


Dark Side

by octoberdear (salamoonder)



Series: Dark Side Universe [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Human, Autism, Eating Disorders, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Horseback Riding, Horses, I'll add more tags as I add chapters cause there's a heckton, M/M, Nausea, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-21 09:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamoonder/pseuds/octoberdear
Summary: Patton is hunger.He’s self aware; he knows what he looks like from the outside. Knows that everyone thinks of him as the sweet one, the innocent dreamer. No one can see how empty he feels inside, how he’d do anything to get rid of the nagging, clawing feeling that he isn’t and never will be enough.Logan is helpless.What’s the point of having an above genius level IQ and a scholarship that’ll more than take care of him for the next four years if he can’t protect his family? Time has always been comforting to him, assuring him that every second will be the same exact length, dividing the universe into neat, even fragments. Now it’s turned against him and he can’t do a thing to stop it from running out.Roman isn’t real.Yes, he’s consistently cast in every lead role he applies himself to, yes, they all say he’s brilliant and daring and larger than life. But does any of it mean anything? Does anybody actually care about the person behind the persona? Is there even a person left?And Virgil? Well, Virgil’s a complete mess.





	1. Virgil

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Sanders sides College AU!! This fic gets pretty dark so I would advise you to proceed with caution and always check the warnings. In other news AHHHH I’M 50K INTO THIS AND IT IS OFFICIALLY THE LONGEST PIECE OF WRITING THAT I HAVE EVER POSTED PUBLICLY even if the other 47k isn’t available yet (rip). I’ll release the playlist as soon as I’m done with it.

“Virgil, breathe.”

“Can’t,” Virgil pants, and grips the edge of the counter till his knuckles go white. The sky is so bright it’s hurting his eyes, so he closes his eyes and shrinks further into the snack booth.

He’s vaguely aware of Patton coming around and unlocking the door. He wants to tell him to get back on the stand and keep lifeguarding, because he’s not worth this, not worth Patton getting written up, but he knows Patton won’t listen. Even if it means risking his job.

A second later Patton lays a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches away. “Don’t touch me. I just. Just need.”

He takes his hands off the counter and curls them into fists.

“I’m sorry, Virge. Please breathe?”

“It’s not-” Virgil makes a huge effort to take a breath, in through his mouth, and suddenly he’s hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey, easy. Look at me.”

Virgil shakes his head to clear it, tries to focus on Patton.

“Breathe in-Virgil, just try-”

“Trying.”

Virgil sits down heavily on the concrete floor in the corner of the snack booth, fixes his eyes on the ceiling, and breathes in. His throat stutters over the air and he resists the urge to just continue hyperventilating. Patton’s sitting down too, ignoring the stool in front of the counter in favor of sitting on the damp concrete with Virgil.

It takes him a couple of minutes, but he’s able to breathe without getting dizzy again. As soon as he’s able to speak, he says, “Patton, you’re gonna get fired.”

Patton shrugs. “No one’s come in in the past half hour. It’s not like Sam cares. And Felicity’s out there keeping an eye on things.”

“Or sleeping,” Virgil mumbles.

Patton swats his arm gently. “Hush, you. She’s covering for me, isn’t she?”

Virgil shrugs. He’s always gotten the feeling that Felicity doesn’t like him very much. Then again he’s never gotten the feeling that anybody particularly liked him, so Felicity’s pretty much the norm.

Patton stands and offers him a hand up, but Virgil’s still feeling a bit weird about touch and so he gets up himself, glancing guiltily at Patton’s hand. But Patton drops the hand, looking thoroughly unbothered. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“But we’ve still got-”

“Half an hour. Last day, Virge, Felicity doesn’t care.”

“You already asked her?”

“No, but I covered for her last week, she owes me.”

“You think she can run things by herself?”

“Do I think she can watch an empty pool for half an hour? Absolutely.”

Virgil lets out a half laugh and Patton’s face splits into a grin. “There we go. Feeling better kiddo?”

“I’m...three months older than you.”

“Even so.”

“Ugh.”

“Well, are you?”

“A little,” Virgil admits as he follows Patton outside. His hands have stopped shaking, anyway. But it’s been getting worse lately, and he’s worried he’s just going to keep going downhill.

“You wanna talk about what set it off?”

Virgil scrubs a hand over his face, and instead of answering fishes the keys out of his pocket and yells across the pool. “Hey, Felicity!”

Her head jerks up and she catches the keys after he flings them across the deep end. “Virgil!” she complains. “I could’ve dropped those in the water!”

“Do you think you could keep an eye on things for us?” Patton asks, tone coaxing and sweet.

Felicity’s arms uncross from her chest and her demeanor immediately brightens. Everyone likes Patton. “Sure, is something wrong? Do you need help?”

“Nothing really,” Patton tells her. “It’d just be a really nice favor to me. Thanks, Felicity.”

“Of course.” She tucks the keys into her pocket and goes back to staring listlessly at her reflection.

Patton nudges into Virgil’s shoulder as he’s sliding into his flip flops at the gate, nearly causing him to overbalance and fall. “You don’t have to tell me, but I think it might help.”

“Uh. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Virgil hunches his shoulders. “Can I drive?”

“If you’re asking because it’ll give you something constructive to focus on and take your mind off stuff, then yes. If it’s because you’re feeling reckless, then absolutely not.” Patton puts one hand on his hip and Virgil has the sudden urge to laugh at his sternness even though there’s not really anything funny about the situation.

“I’m fine, Dad, it’ll help me calm down.”

Patton chews his lip. “Alright, but we’re pulling over if it gets to be too much.”

“Patton, my house is literally like two minutes away. We could’ve walked.”

“Still.”

“You sound like me,” says Virgil, half smirking as he climbs into the driver’s side seat. “Stop worrying.”

Patton walks around, straps himself in, taps Virgil’s seatbelt. “And you sound like you’re trying to deflect.”

Virgil says nothing as they pull out, nothing as he turns onto the smooth main road of his neighborhood. They’re almost to his house before Patton says, “If you really don’t want to talk about it I’ll shut up.”

“No, it’s…” Virgil grips the wheel a little harder than necessary as they approach his house, anxiety spiking through him again. “Patton, um...I haven’t started packing yet.”

“What?” Patton screeches, and Virgil winces. They’re in his driveway now, but neither of them makes a move to get out of the car. “Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly. “But Virgil...what the heck? Are you okay?”

Virgil shrugs and buries his face in his hands. Both of his arms itch to do something, but the thought of everything he has to do before tomorrow morning at five am makes him want to lie down and never move again.

“Virge?” Patton’s unstrapped and is leaning over him, concerned. “Let’s get you inside, mkay? When was the last time you ate?’

“Not sure,” Virgil mumbles. He can feel himself falling back into panic and shoves his door open, gets out and begins to pace to stave it off.

“C’mon, Virge, stop that. It’s okay.” Patton takes his hand and leads him inside and Virgil’s skin itches again but he doesn’t want to let go of Patton, even if it’s uncomfortable.

Patton taps in the house code and they both slip off their flip flops at the door and walk inside. It’s almost too cold in the house; Virgil gasps as his feet hit the gleamingly white tile. The air conditioner’s made it like ice.

Virgil’s always been a little embarrassed of his house. The ceilings are indulgently high and the whole first floor is impeccable tile and ikea furniture. The kitchen is far too large for a family of three, especially one that usually doesn’t eat together and is more likely to order takeout than not. The staircase looks like an art installation, and his mother keeps the place clean enough that it doesn’t even look lived in.

Truthfully, it’s barely lived in. Virgil’s the only one in the house all the time, and he’s not sure he could call what he does living. The first time Patton slept over he couldn’t stop staring, reverently wandering the house and gazing at the abstract art that Virgil’s mother filled the house with, taking care not to touch anything, even at the age of twelve. Sometimes it felt like staying in a museum, Virgil the only living display. The rare Depresso anxietus.

“Virgil?” Patton squeezes his hand, trying to shake him out of his reverie. “Is there food in the house?”

“Uhh…” Virgil opens the fridge, eyes flickering over the overstocked shelves. “Yeah...yeah, there's food in the house.” He steps aside so Patton can see. “What should we make?”

“Sandwiches,” says Patton, already pulling out the bread. Virgil hops onto the counter to watch. He doesn't feel like making decisions, however small, so he's grateful to Patton for not making him think much. One question at a time. “Do you want pickles?” “Swiss or cheddar?” This or that, yes or no, low energy things. It would probably seem silly to somebody else but right now Virgil is sure that sandwich ingredients, handled indelicately, could probably send him into a spiral of panic.

They eat at the breakfast bar almost in deathly silence. Virgil can see Patton sneaking concerned looks at him but he doesn't volunteer up any information. He feels too guilty.

Tomorrow morning he and Patton are going to pack Virgil's car and make the three hour drive up to Riverpoint University. It should be exciting. What kid wasn't excited the day before move in? Virgil wants to kick himself. Patton is clearly looking forward to it. Riverpoint is Patton's entire dream. He’s going to go off and win a Nobel peace prize for environmental conservation and stage large scale protests and plant new rainforests in South America and photograph penguins in Antarctica. He'll be a reporter for National Geographic or a famous blogger or something, no matter how unlikely it looked. Patton is charismatic and determined and he’ll undoubtedly rise beyond any expectations set for him, Virgil has no doubt of that.

On the other hand, all Virgil wants to do with his future is not have one. He wants to curl up in the back of his closet and be left alone. All his interests are nowhere near as passionate or as deep as Patton's. You can't make a career out of folding sad poetry into paper cranes. Well, maybe Patton could figure out a way to make that work. Patton could save the entire world if he wanted to, Virgil is sure of it.

He’s half smiling into his sandwich now. Maybe all he wants to do with his future is live vicariously through Patton.

That’s kind of the reason why he’s going to RU. He can’t fathom being apart from Patton for even a day. They’d grown up together, elementary through high school, and when they’d gotten older they’d started hanging out on the weekends, every weekend, and some days Patton felt like the only piece of life Virgil was holding onto. So naturally at the midpoint of junior year when nearly every class was interrupted by an office assistant sending someone or other to the counselor’s office to “discuss future careers and higher education”, Virgil panicked. It’s what he did best. What he still does best. Because of course while all Virgil wants is to have the world stand still around him, to sit up in his room and read and pretend that everything outside doesn’t exist, Patton has kept going. Kept moving. Patton wants to do something with his life.

When Patton applied for colleges, Virgil applied for colleges. He wrote cheery, over enthused entrance essays (he always was good at fiction), compared tuition costs (not that it mattered), scoured school websites for information. Patton’s top choice was Virgil’s top choice. Patton’s safety schools were Virgil’s safety schools. When Patton got his acceptance letter to Riverpoint, Virgil had pretended his hadn’t come yet, waited two days, and then pretended to be surprised when his showed up in the mailbox again, taped shut.

He doesn’t want Patton to know that the only reason he’s going to college is because he can’t stand the thought of being without Patton. It’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever done, and he’s starting to regret it.

Before it wasn’t fully real. It was just something he had to do. Get into the same college as Patton, stay with Patton. Right now the full implications of “college” are starting to cloud out the reality of “Patton”.

What was he thinking? He can’t do college! Much less college three hours away with parties and shared bathrooms and classes that are not with Patton and eating by himself and-

Patton’s reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Kiddo?” he says gently. “You okay?”

Something must’ve shown on his face.

“M’fine.” says Virgil, and forces himself to take a deep breath. He takes a bite of his sandwich for something to do and chews slowly.

“We should get started soon,” says Patton. “I don’t want you up too late.”

Virgil nods and stuffs the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth. He collects Patton’s plate, which is already empty-when did that happen?- and put both in the sink.

When they get up to Virgil’s room, he’s scared the sandwich might come right back up again. There are boxes and clothes everywhere, but nothing actually in the boxes. None of his books have been taken down from the shelves either. It actually just looks like Virgil’s normal messy room plus boxes, which is pretty much what it is. He’s been locking his room and telling his mom he’s packing while actually playing Fortnite for weeks now.

Patton must sense his panic, because he leads him over to the bed, makes him sit down, and tells him to close his eyes. Virgil does.

“Not looking at it isn’t going to make it go away,” Virgil mumbles. He can hear Patton shuffling around.

“I know,” says Patton. “Just cleaning things up a bit, kiddo. It’ll take no time to pack. You’ll be fine.”

A couple minutes go by, and Virgil says, “Uh,” and then stops. Patton doesn’t press him, and for once Virgil wishes he would give him a gentle push in the right direction.

But Patton doesn’t push. He waits, and he listens, and sometimes he makes Virgil feel like a wild animal in that he handles him very, very carefully- and like he might get bitten. “Patton?” he says carefully, on an exhale. Like the name got lost on his breath, and he’s not quite sure if he wants to say it.

“Mhm?” the response comes from somewhere over by the window, so Virgil turns his head in that direction.

“I’m...scared.”

“Of what?”

Virgil listens to Patton moving, shifting boxes and the soft thump of clothes.

“College,” says Virgil, and immediately feels stupid.

“Okay…?” says Patton, leaving the word open on the end, as though he’s waiting for Virgil to finish whatever he was saying. Virgil doesn’t want to finish whatever he was saying. “Can I open my eyes now?” he asks plaintively.

“In a minute,” says Patton. “Why are you scared of college?”

“I dunno…” says Virgil, trying not to immediately summon all of his fears just by touching the subject in his mind. He’s unsuccessful. “It’s- it’s not home.”

More shuffling. “I never got the impression that you particularly liked it here,” says Patton conversationally.

“No,” Virgil concedes. “But it’s. Home.” he says again, feeling unable to come up with anything more. “It’s...familiar,” he tries, and it fits. “I don’t like unfamiliar,” he says, finally putting his finger on it.

“Open your eyes,” says Patton, and he does. Patton’s sorted his clothes into two piles, apparently clean and dirty, and all the boxes are stacked inside of each other near the closet. His books are on the floor in neat, even towers.

“Oh,” says Virgil, and smiles. It’s symmetrical. Comforting. Patton smiles back at him. “More doable, hm?”

“Yeah,” says Virgil softly. “I still don’t see how we’re going to get all this done by tomorrow morning. And still sleep.”

“Easy, Virgil. One piece at a time.” He walks over to Virgil’s desk, opens his laptop, and pulls up Spotify. “Classical or modern?”

“Mm...modern.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Yours.” Virgil doesn’t feel like making any more choices today. He’s listened to all of Patton’s playlists hundreds of times anyway, and he likes all of them, even if they’re not his. Today’s not a My Chemical Romance kind of day though.

According to Patton, it seems to be an Owl City and Postal Service kind of day. That’s fine. It’s bouncy and light and thoroughly optimistic.

They sort through the clothes systematically; bring or leave for clean, fold, bring or leave for dirty, throw in a load of wash, lie on the bed and do nothing, dryer, fold. The books are harder; Patton’s trying to be gentle but he’s also trying to keep Virgil from bringing his entire library and Virgil would sooner leave one of his own limbs at home than leave a book, if he thinks he might need it.

“Is 1001 mushrooms and fungi really necessary, Virgil? Really? You don’t even go outside.”

“I do, sometimes,” Virgil says, around the dictionary sized book in his arms. He doesn’t. He just likes the idea of knowing what’s poisonous and what’s not. Of knowing what would sustain you if you got lost in the woods for any reason. In the end they leave it, but not without a considerable fight from Virgil.

After that he’s somewhat at a loss. What exactly do you need besides clothes and books? Tons of things, he’s sure, but Patton keeps telling him they’ll pack toiletries in the morning and if he’s really forgotten something crucial they can just buy something new at the campus store.

“Or in town,” he says. “It’s a really nice college town, Virgil, I can’t believe you got out of orientation. I can’t believe you wanted to.”

Virgil shrugs “They wouldn’t have let me stay with you, would they?”

“No, the rooms are randomly assigned. But, Virge, that’s a good thing! You get to meet new people! Get thrown right into the thick of things.”

Virgil shudders. Thick of things sounds like thicket. Maybe he’d prefer that. Being thrown into a jumble of thorns sounds better than meeting new people.

“Patton?”

“Mm?”

“Can you stay over tonight?”

Patton hesitates, and Virgil feels horrible. He has a family to go home to. This is their last night at home, both of them. Virgil’s family (if you could call it that) probably wouldn’t even notice if he was out at a club till four in the morning. They’d probably be relieved, actually, at their son actually being normal. Patton’s little siblings shriek and cling as soon as he’s walked through the door, like over excited dogs. Or like he’s Santa. They shriek and cling at Virgil too, who tries to pry them off as gently as possible while internally freaking out.

But he doesn’t want to be alone in this big house tonight, so big that you couldn’t tell anyone else was in it, even if his parents do come home. Even if they want you to know they’re there.

He’s being incredibly selfish, and he hates it, and he’s halfway to telling Patton to go home when he smiles and says, “Sure, Virge.”

They pull Virgil’s high end sleeping bags out of his closet and pop popcorn and watch Coraline on Virgil’s laptop. The tv downstairs is bigger, but Virgil’s feeling unusually attached to his room tonight. And there’s a higher concentration of Patton per square inch when they’re in a small space.

That sounds stupid, but Patton always uses math to make him feel better. More orderly. Patton can make it sound like all the numbers in the universe are falling together for him.

“What are the odds?” he’d ask. “What are the odds that in all of time and space, between all the planets and space dust and dinosaurs-”

“Space dust,” Virgil had snorted.

“Space dust,” Patton confirmed. “That you and I would be human? That we’d be born on the same planet, in the same country, in the same town, go to the same school? That we’d exist at the same time? What are the incredible odds?”

“What are the odds that you’d like me?” Virgil mumbled, and Patton had cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “How could I not like you, Virge? That’s the only sure statistic.”

Patton’s asleep now. Virgil’s laptop, which is balanced on his stomach, rises and falls every time he breathes. Virgil takes it carefully and pauses the movie, then gets up to turn off the lamp.

When he lies down on the sleeping bag again, Patton rolls over and rests his head against Virgil’s chest.

“Did I wake you up?” Virgil whispers.

“A little bit,” says Patton sleepily. “ ‘M falling back asleep tho. Love you, kiddo.”

Virgil huffs out a tiny sigh so he won’t disturb Patton’s head on his chest. “I love you too.”


	2. Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan wishes everything was objective and the logical choice was clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not totally sure if Logan is autistic or just has autistic tendencies...? Either way he's fun :)

Logan’s late for his last lesson. His room is perfect, as always. All his craziness--various fidget toys, Rubik’s cubes, stacks and stacks of notebooks and papers from his slew of never ending projects--is confined to his desk. His riding clothes are hanging right in front of him, washed, ironed, crisp. Even the edges of the sleeves on his polos are aligned with each other. His breeches are organized in a gradient, and everything slopes up to the right with his pants on the left and everything else on the right. According to a book he’s read on the Japanese art of minimalism and tidying, it leads the eye upward, makes you feel more uplifted. And like every other perfectly arranged bit of his room, it only draws more attention to the fact that inside, his head is a disaster area.

Logan sits down on his bed and grunts in frustration. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go.

It’s that he doesn’t want to leave. Of course he wants to go to Riverpoint. But his points of interest are not aligning very well. He doesn’t want to leave the stables, therefore he doesn’t feel like going in the first place, because it will only bring the leaving closer. He wants to go to Riverpoint, but he doesn’t want to leave anything else behind- this whole thing is so frustratingly illogical.

In the end he snatches a polo and a pair of riding breeches from his closet without looking, dresses and brushes his teeth and hair in record time, and drives to Magnolia’s instead of walking.

He makes it with two minutes to spare till the actual lesson. Nowhere near enough time to tack up Starburst, but at least he’s here.

“You’re late,” says Magnolia, smiling as he walks into the barn. She’s leading Starburst by the reins and looking exceedingly cheerful for someone whose student has just been late for what is probably the first time in years.

“I apologize,” he says. She hands him the reins and walks over to the gate of the training ring.

“It’s alright,” she tells him. “I figured you probably had a lot on your mind.”

“I...do,” says Logan, leading Starburst over to the mounting block. “I’m going to miss this,” he admits, and the words feel rough over his tongue. He’s not one for admissions of emotion, even if it’s the most basic of expressions.

Starburst seems happy to see him. It’s been a while since he’s been able to ride regularly, and Magnolia doesn’t have many students. She’s a responsible caretaker but sometimes there are weeks when the horses just aren’t exercised enough.

Magnolia still makes him feel like he’s about five, correcting his posture and telling him to make sure Starburst is paying attention, counting out beats as he posts. She lets him jump at the end of the lesson, and Logan can’t resist just a tiny smile when they complete the course all the way through the first time. Starburst had been perfect.

He does it a few more times, then dismounts and leads Starburst back over to Magnolia. The gelding snuffles at his hair and Logan reaches up to pat the messy star on his forehead.

“I’ll be sad to see you go, Logan,” she says, and pulls him into a tight hug before he can say anything. He’s surprised, but not too surprised to return the hug. He smiles at her awkwardly. “Thank you. I’m...sad to go.”

Magnolia has another private lesson to get ready for, so Logan untacks Starburst alone, brushes him, spends a few minutes trying to untangle his tail, puts his halter on and then turns him loose in the paddock. He sticks around for a while, nosing Logan over for treats, and Logan goes back into the barn to grab him a couple. The gelding lingers for quite a while after he’s eaten them both, and Logan perches on the gate and strokes his nose.

He’s so glad there will be horses at Riverpoint, but it won’t be quite the same. None of the horses there will replace Starburst. And he has no doubt that none of the instructors are going to replace Magnolia. She’s practically his aunt. Drops by every holiday with a plate of cookies and talks to his mom about him the way a preschool teacher might; proud and exasperated and fond.

Logan jumps off the fence. His mom. He’s been here far too long. He looks around for Magnolia to wave, but she’s deep in her next lesson.

The drive back is lonely.

Logan’s not even sure he remembers what lonely feels like, but it hits him when he gets in the car. Time to forge a new identity, time to put home aside.

His mother’s washing the dishes when he gets back.

“Mom, let me,” he says, gently elbowing her aside and taking the plate in his hands. He hasn’t even bothered to change.

“Logan-” she protests, frowning even as she dries her hands on a dish towel and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m not completely helpless, you know, dear.”

“I know,” he says indulgently. “Just...let me do this, alright, mom? Last night here and everything.”

She sighs. “You’re going to be one of those men who stays up till three am at the office, aren’t you?”

Logan shrugs. “If I end up working an office job, and I deem it productive, I don’t see why not.

She shakes his head. “You’re quite impossible. Dinner’s in the fridge, I’ll be in the living room.”

Logan does some thinking while he finishes the dishes. He’s been thinking for days, of course, about this particular subject, but he never wanted to bring it up. His mom is stubborn, and proud, and he doesn’t want to insult her independence.

But the idea of leaving her here in this dead end town while he goes off to college burns in the tips of his fingers like the lingering sting of grabbing the handle of a hot pan. His mom’s been sick for years now but it was always a background thing before. He didn't have to think about it every day before. Now every deadline for him, everything he has to look forward to, is dampened by the reality of knowing that every second brings them closer to...to.

Well.

Logan supposes he'll just keep on hoping.

The dishes don't take long; it's just the two of them and neither of them like to let them pile up. He joins his mother in the living room even though he still has things to pack. This is more important.

She's watching food network.

“Mom?” he asks during a commercial break.

“Yes?” She's hardly paying attention.

“Mom, I…” he clears his throat. “Mom.”

He hasn't rehearsed this at all, which is unlike him. Looking back, he supposes he was just hoping that it wouldn't be necessary. That there'd be some kind of miracle cure or that Riverpoint would send out a second letter: “Sir, we regret to inform you that your acceptance letter was sent in error and you have not, indeed, been accepted to Riverpoint. Please accept our condolences and best of luck finding an alternative school.”

It doesn't matter that he has about twenty safety schools; he elects to ignore that for now. Being rejected just would've made things easier. Then again, when has Logan ever liked things to be easy?

His mom is staring at him now. He clears his throat again. “Mom, I just want you to know that I can still stay, if need be,” he says in a rush. He's scared that if he doesn't get it out all at once he won't say it at all. His mom’s eyes widen and she places a hand on his knee. “Oh, honey,” she says, “I wouldn't dream of it. You staying here for my sake after you got into your top school? I'd never forgive myself.”

Logan keeps trying to protest, but his mom fixes him with a severe over the glasses stare and he shuts up. It feels disrespectful to keep going.

They finish watching Chopped in silence. Logan goes up to bed bed after that first episode ends; he still has things to do, after all.

She's shorter than him now. She has been for years, but it still doesn't feel right.

Logan carries the last of his bags and boxes out to his beat up Toyota and goes to bed. The moon is too bright for him to sleep properly with the curtains of his window open, but he leaves them open anyway. He wants to be aware of his last night at home.


	3. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New life, new school, new Virgil, right? Right?
> 
> Wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been blown away so far by the support and positive comments I’ve received on this work- and this is only chapter three! Y’all really know how to make someone feel loved <3\. As always, please heed the warnings; this is just the tip of the iceberg as far as how dark this fic is gonna get. Please proceed with caution and take care of yourself. (Anxiety and nausea in this chapter.)

“Virgil, honey, do we need to stop for a while? This is the third time and we're not even halfway there.”

Virgil spits into the dirt. His stomach’s stopped heaving but he feels like crap. It's way too hot. “Please don't call me that.”

Patton is leaning against the car and frowning so deep it’s distorting his face. “Sorry. But do we need to stop though?”

Virgil shakes his head; hiccups. “I'm...okay. Just anxious. Stopping isn't going to help. This isn't carsickness.”

“If you say so,” says Patton, still frowning. “I wish you'd eat something, though.”

“Patton, I just ate.”

Patton doesn't say anything. Just glares. Well, as much as Patton is capable of glaring.

“Fine. Fine. I'll eat.”

“Good. I would've had to fight you otherwise.”

Virgil rolls his eyes once Patton's back is turned. Patton couldn't fight an over excited squirrel. He’s too much of a softie.

He washes his mouth out, spits in the dirt again, and climbs back into the car. It's his car, but Patton had insisted on driving and for once Virgil hadn't argued. He doesn't trust himself to be on a highway right now. His road rage would be through the roof. Patton hands him a cliff bar and he chews on it as slowly as he can manage. It tastes like stale chocolate and thawed blueberries.

Once he's sure Virgil has at least somewhat recovered Patton immediately goes back to playing I spy.

“Is it...a road sign?”

“Nope!” Patton says cheerily.

“That car?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Patton, I swear to God if this is ‘the sky’ again…”

“Aw, you got it!” Patton squeals. “You're so good at this, Virge.”

Virgil lets out a low growl. “Are we there yet?”

“Not quite,” says Patton, still far too cheerful.

Virgil leans around to the backseat and starts digging through the boxes. “What’re you doing?” Patton asks curiously.

“Finding a book,” Virgil grumbles.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince lasts him a long time, even though he’s read it so often that it seems to get shorter every readthrough. They turn off the highway and into their first town before he finishes it.

They stop for actual, proper breakfast (not granola bars) at a dilapidated looking waffle house. Most of the employees are leaning on the counter and texting or lost deep in conversation with each other. It’s completely empty.

The server is nice enough when they step up to the counter, though. A little bored maybe. They order, grab their drinks, and take a booth by the window. Virgil still doesn’t feel like eating, but he chokes down a few forkfuls of egg and a couple pieces of bacon for Patton’s sake. If Virgil doesn’t eat, Patton will alternate between staring at Virgil and his own food and refuse to do anything about either. It’s not deliberate, Virgil knows--but it still bothers him.

The stop only takes them about fifteen minutes. As they clear the table, Virgil ventures, “Patton, do you think I could drive the rest of the way?”

Patton eyes him suspiciously. “You feeling okay?”

“Fine. Good. Never been better.” Virgil clamps his mouth shut. “Um.”

Patton doesn’t seem entirely sure but he tosses Virgil the keys. “Don’t crash. Please.”

“Sure,” says Virgil, finally exhaling.

Driving really does calm him down, now that they’re in a small, mostly empty town early in the morning. He does tell Patton to shut up probably a few more times than necessary, though. He likes quiet when he’s on the road. Anything louder than other cars passing him is too much.

“There! Right there,” Patton yelps. Virgil swerves down the next street on the right; he’d almost missed it. The sign is kind of tiny, just the usual green ones printed in reflective white that you see at the edge of a highway. Riverpoint University. Five miles.

Nerves ball up in Virgil’s chest and for the first time since Patton handed him the keys he actually starts considering pulling over so Patton can drive. Patton must sense something, because he reaches over and lightly wraps his fingers over Virgil’s on the wheel.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” He’s determined to drive there by himself. It’s his car. His college. He’s going to have to belong here, isn’t he? Might as well start now.

Apparently, though, he’s set Patton off, because he starts babbling about his schedule and doesn’t stop, and Virgil doesn’t have the heart anymore to tell him to be quiet again. He’s talking about how he wishes he could take more science classes, and he’s really glad that he and Virgil are both taking oceanography and he hopes there will be fish tanks in the classroom, and Virgil can’t help but smile. He’s a bit distracted but he still can’t imagine how he was so annoyed at Patton before.

And then the campus is right in front of him.

Virgil pulls into the left lane and swallows hard.

“Turn signal,” Patton reminds him cheerfully, and he flips it on. Even from down here (all the buildings are on top of a massive hill) he can tell that it’s crawling with people. And cars. And more people.

Suddenly he has a very strong urge to make a U turn and just drive straight back home, taking Patton with him. Nice road trip. Fun. Nice experiment. Amusing to image he’d ever be anywhere near okay at university. Now let’s go home.

“I think I might actually be sick again,” he mumbles, soft enough that Patton can’t hear.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” says Virgil, louder. He turns into the long driveway, trying to ignore the open iron wrought gates closing off the campus from the rest of the world. They make him feel like he’s in a cage.

He slows to a crawl of about five miles per hour, eyes darting frantically as he watches for people. He’s forgotten how much he hates college drivers. His parents did manage to make him tour one campus and he remembers thoroughly despising the experience. Everyone’s going too fast and none of the pedestrians are watching where they’re going. The talking and laughing and yelling is loud enough that he can hear it inside the car, and there are plenty of people carrying boxes in front of their faces who look completely unaware that they’re even walking on a road.

Virgil’s jaw is clenched so hard he thinks his teeth might grind each other flat.

“Virge, seriously now; do you need me to get out and drive?”

“If you think I’m not going to drive the last fifty feet, you’re crazy.”

“Fair enough,” says Patton quietly, and Virgil wonders if he’s finally hurt his feelings. He tries to tuck that in the back of his mind for now.

“Which building are we going to again?” he asks instead.

Patton smooths the map of campus that he has in his lap.

“That one.” He’s pointing somewhere in the distance. Virgil squints. “Where?”

“Just keep going straight. Wait, no, actually, turn right.”

Virgil’s jaw aches, but he does as he’s told. All the buildings are huge and brownstone and majestic; it feels a bit like a corporate Hogwarts. Patton directs him slowly through each curve of the road until they come to a giant circular parking lot.

Virgil gets out almost before the car’s come to a complete stop, fighting the ridiculous urge to laugh. Shit. This is worse than he thought. He’s getting...hysterical. Hysterical is not good. Hysterical means excessive talking and unpredictable panic attacks. He slams the car door, then opens it, then slams it again, just to get a feel for something solid.

Patton’s come around the front of the car and is standing in front of him nervously.

“Which one is it?” Virgil asks. “That one?” He’s pointing to the nearest building.

“No...that’s the math building. I think. And other stuff.”

“That one?”

Patton shakes his head. “Human resources, admissions, and the dean’s office.”

“Well, where the hell is it?” Virgil asks. It comes out more of a snap than he means it to. “Sorry. Are we in the right parking lot?”

Patton glances down at the map again. “Yeah, this is definitely the right parking lot. Why?”

“Because...where’s our dorm, Patton?”

Patton squints for a moment, spins in a full 360, then circles back around halfway. “There,” he says, pointing down the hill.

Virgil squints with him. “What the fuck?”

There’s a low brownstone building like a younger cousin of the others, all the way at the bottom of the hill down a winding cobbled path. And right next to the building, carving through the bottom of the valley between the hill that they’re standing on and the next, is a river.

“What the fuck what?” Patton asks, confused.

“There’s...a river here?” Virgil asks, feeling exceedingly dumb. Patton’s eyes widen. “Virgil, did you not do any research like...at all? I thought you said you really wanted to go here!”

“I didn’t do any research...on...the grounds…” Virgil mumbles guiltily. “I only recently got my housing assignment back. I think it was late since we requested each other, and they had to...process it differently...or something,”

Patton gives him an odd look. “Okay. Well. Let’s go check out the dorm, hm? Say hello to people? Meet the suitmates?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Patton assures him that they don’t have to start unpacking quite yet and it’ll probably be less stressful to check everything out first and then come get their stuff, but Virgil feels more secure with his hands holding onto something, and so he brings his entire box of books.

He’s regretting it before they’re even halfway down the hill. The box is heavy as all hell, and he can’t see where he’s going. But Patton is chirping at him to hurry up and he figures he’s going to have to bring the books at some point and it wouldn’t make a lot of sense to haul it all the way uphill. So the box stays.

There are more people swarming around the dorm but here it feels up close and personal, like the difference between looking at an anthill and accidentally stomping on one and having the ants attack you. Virgil feels very attacked right now, and no one’s so much as looked at him.

Patton is waving at everyone and trying to start small talk, pushing his glasses up his nose a lot the way he does when he’s excited. They climb up the stairs and step into the dorm, and Virgil almost collapses in relief. The air conditioner hits him like a cold shower, and he can smell pizza.

They’re in a wide, modern lounge with huge bay windows and a multitude of bean bag chairs. A couple of people have set up a Wii and there’s already a fierce game of Smash Bros going. Virgil has an intense desire to find wherever the pizza smell is coming from, grab a slice, and nestle into a secluded corner to watch them play from a distance.

But Patton’s already tugging him down the hall.

They pass what must be a community kitchen before getting to the actual dorms. Each door has a whiteboard stuck to it, and the names of the inhabitants of the room are written in curly, bouncy cursive, Virgil assumes by one of the RAs.

“Which room are we?” he asks Patton. “I’m dying to put this down.”

“Uhh...122, I think.”

The 20s are all the way down at the end of the hallway. Virgil gets there first, sets his box down with a huff, looks up at the door-- and then freezes.

Patton and Remy, the script reads, red and utterly optimistic. Virgil immediately wants to throw up again. He can’t do this. He can’t, he _can’t_.

“Patton?” he says, and his voice is trembling. “This is a mistake right?”

Patton’s come up behind him and is studying the writing on the door. “I’m not sure. We should find an RA,” he says, voice carefully flat.

Virgil grips the side of his box again, not wanting to leave it alone. Patton’s already run off. He stands there, shaking, trying not to think too much. Then the door of their--no, Patton’s--room flies open. He yelps.

“Oh, sorry,” says a bright, decidedly estrogen based voice. Virgil looks up in confusion. A girl with a mouse brown pixie cut and shockingly blue eyeshadow is peeking out from behind the open door. Virgil knows the eyeshadow is incredibly blue because he can see it through her sunglasses, which she is for some reason wearing inside. She sticks a hand out. “Hi, I’m Remy. Are you Patton?”

“I...what? No,” says Virgil, trying to ignore her hand. “I’m...Virgil. His…” he’s about to say roommate but the words catch in his throat. “...friend.” Great, she probably thinks they’re dating now.

“Huh. You look like him,” says Remy, and puts her hand down. Virgil’s about to ask how she knows what Patton looks like when Patton runs up with an older girl who he assumes is an RA.

“How come there’s a girl in your room?” Virgil demands. Remy swirls a straw through her iced coffee.

“Demigirl, actually? But she/her is fine.”

“Um...alright,” says Virgil, taking it in but still not processing that this isn’t his room. “But why is there a demigirl…?”

“I opted into gender neutral housing, Vrige, didn’t you?”

“No! I...I didn’t think about it, it didn’t even occur to me, I thought I was going to be with you!” He turns to the RA, who looks bored but kind and vaguely hipsterish. “Please tell me this is a mistake? I’m with Patton, right?”

The girl consults a scuffed up clipboard. “No...looks like you’re down the hall a few doors. 126.”

“But...you don’t understand. I requested Patton. We requested each other.”

The girl bites her lip and tugs at her beanie. “I’m really sorry, but the request must’ve gotten lost at some point. Or sent in too late. I’d go to housing and ask them to look into it. Or the disability office. They might be able to help you. Were there any special accommodations you needed?”

Virgil shakes his head, gripping the flap of his box and doing his utmost not to cry.

“Okay. Well, you might just have to stick it out then, at least until housing can do something about the situation. Drop by my room and I’ll get you a key card?”

Virgil nods, not trusting himself to speak to her. “Watch my box,” he mumbles to Patton, who nods back.

“I’m Valerie, by the way. Could be my terrible memory but I don’t think I saw you at orientation.”

“I wasn’t there,” Virgil says, as low as he can manage.

“Ah. That explains it. Well, if you need anything, I’m right here.” She swipes her keycard and pushes open the door to a room close to the lounge. “And Clay is upstairs if I’m out. I’ll point him out to you if I get the chance.”

Virgil nods again dumbly. She’s going through a box full of clear plastic dividers and credit card looking things. “Ah. Here it is.”

She hands Virgil one of the credit card things. It has his room number on it but other than that and a black stripe along the side, it’s blank.

“Do I have a roommate…?” Virgil asks, dreading the answer.

“Everyone has a roommate, kid. Unless you absolutely can’t have one. Yours is probably already in your room.”

“Okay,” says Virgil. “Thank you.” He starts to slink out, but Valerie has stood up. “Hey. Seriously if you need anything? I’m here. All freshman are practically as helpless as baby birds and, like, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You need a quick sugar fix? I’ve got candy. I also have bandaids and Uber codes and mints and...a whole lot of other stuff. I really want you to feel welcome here. That’s why I agreed to be RA. Okay?”

Virgil hesitates to speak (he’s still shaking) but nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and walks out.

When he gets back to Patton’s room, he’s deep in conversation with his roommate--Remy, Virgil corrects himself. She’s gesturing with her coffee cup so animatedly Virgil is surprised it hasn’t spilled yet. When Virgil creeps back up to his box, Patton starts somewhat guiltily.

“Remy, hold on. Virge-? I’m sorry, it’s going to be okay--it’s--it’s not the end of the world, y’know.”

Virgil lets out a heavy sigh. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Pat. I just have to...get over it.”

He hesitates for a moment--he wants to stay just so he can be near Patton, but he doesn’t want Patton to see how upset he is and he certainly doesn’t want Remy to know, so he picks up his box and stalks off around the corner to find room 126. As he leaves he can hear Remy murmuring, “Is he okay?” to Patton, and then Patton replying, “He’ll be fine. He’s just disappointed.”

Disappointed. Ha. Virgil wishes he was just disappointed. So far every moment on campus has just reinforced his feeling that he should turn around and drive straight back home.

He comes to a sudden stop in front of room 126, thumping his box down on the soft carpet. He goes to swipe his keycard, but the door is already open.

His roommate is here.


	4. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting go is so much harder when you slip and fall in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for lateness, I have been a whole entire mess...also an odd aside, I personally completely respect light tech crew, Roman’s just a diva.

“Roman, can I talk to you for a second?”

Roman’s been happily staring into space, a fork in his cupcake flavored pancakes, listening in a blissful haze to the talk of his friends around him.

“Hmm?” he says, pulling his gaze back to his girlfriend, Izzy, who is leaning across the table of their booth to look at him. “What, right here?”

“No, somewhere more...private.”

“Oh,” says Roman, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, sure, that’s perfectly fine.”

They’re about an hour into their traditional IHOP cast party. The curtains had officially closed on Into the Woods nearly two hours ago, and the whole cast is somewhat emotional, as always. Red Riding Hood is cry-laughing on Rapunzel’s Prince, and Roman can hear the Baker’s Wife recounting to a couple members of the tech crew a moment in rehearsal when the Baker had gone to kiss her, sneezed, and jolted into her ear instead, to raucous laughter. Jack is trying to lead one last rendition of the title song, with mixed results. The Wolf and Cinderella’s stepmother are making out in one of the corner booths.

Roman’s going to miss this group. Technically it’s a summer only community theater, but for as long as he can remember it’s been a group from his high school, mixed in with a handful of homeschoolers and sometimes a couple of drama nerds from private schools too small to have a full theater program. While technically Annie had been his last ever school production, these were all the same people. This was his final goodbye to high school; his goodbye to each of his many roles, goodbye to every onstage mishap, every rehearsal on their scuffed stage, every new actor, every senior star heading off to acting school or attempting to etch out the cliched starving artist life in New York, or both.

And this last production really has been perfect. He’d played Cinderella’s Prince alongside his last high school girlfriend, his longest lasting relationship to date--Isabella. He’s found a sort of security in her, the reassurance that their chemistry will crackle every time they step on stage from the moment they read for Oberon and Titania last fall. There was something thrilling about a person who could play off of you, take your lines, magnify them, dance around you, and throw back pure energy and enthusiasm in every flick of of the wrist, every subtle moment of eye contact.

Being cast opposite each other certainly didn’t hurt their relationship, either.

Roman shakes himself out of his reverie. Izzy has taken his hand and led him over to the bathrooms, in the little alcove next to the doors. Roman’s a bit puzzled. “Izzy? Are we…” he looks around. “Wait, what? Here? Now?”

“What?” says Izzy, and then immediately colors. “Oh. Oh, no. No. No...definitely not.”

“Oh,” says Roman, catching some of her blush. “So...what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Roman, I…” Izzy bites her lip and her eyes flutter downward, and she moves forward to take his hand. Roman turns it palm up to encompass hers, puzzled. “This isn’t working.”

Roman blinks and takes a step back, the words hitting him like a physical weight. He’s still holding onto her hand. “I...um...what?” is the most he can manage. For a moment he just felt frozen, but now his heart’s started pounding like he’s about to go back on stage. Is she...is she saying what he thinks she is? No. No, she can’t be. They are everything. They are sparks on stage and making the audience cry and making out in the wings. They are the power couple. They sing in two part harmony, for fuck’s sake. She is the end in a long stream of midnight hookups, the last of a number of various girls and guys littering his high school career. They have to be...everything.

“Izzy. What do you mean this isn’t working? This is working. This is perfect.”

Izzy shifts her feet nervously. “Okay, well, maybe it is working now, but it’s probably not going to later.”

“Wh-”

She holds up her hand to explain, apparently getting a little bolder. “Roman, you’re leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow. And in a week I’ll be in New York. Do you really think the long distance thing is going to work for us?”

“Well, I- uh-” he stutters, but she’s already continued.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry that I’ve waited until now to say anything, but this has really been...pretty great.” she smiles at him, almost ashamed, and twirls the locket he’d given her in her fingers. “And I didn’t want to end it, truthfully I didn’t.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Roman. I hope I didn’t ruin your night.”

She leans in and kisses him quickly, and then pulls away before he can make a response of any kind. Izzy darts into the ladies room and just leaves him standing there, shocked as all hell.

He wanders back to their table and forces a smile at his fellow cast and crew, listens as Ryan the lights guy goes on and on about one particular sequence with Cinderella and her mother, and for once doesn’t mind in the slightest that he’s entirely too long winded and doesn’t seem to care that no one else is as fascinated by lights as he is.

Roman’s just glad for a distraction that doesn’t require him to talk. Usually he never feels like keeping his mouth shut, but right now he can’t think of a single thing to say. Ryan’s droning about how he learned each pattern, how he used to wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, grab the flashlight off his nightstand, and start flicking it on and off. Roman’s pretty sure that’s a lie, but Ryan is nothing if not dramatic.

“Hey, Roman!” Rapunzel comes zipping over to their table, all energy and bounce. She’s short and petite but seems to take up much more space than she actually occupies. She runs a hand through her ironically buzzed hair, eyes darting between Roman and the booth next to him. “Do you know where Izzy went? I haven’t seen her in a while. I wanted her to sign my program. Y’know, like a yearbook thing.”

“Uh..I don’t know, Erin. She...must’ve gone home early.”

“Gone home early?” Erin repeats, eyes widening in concern. “Is she alright, do you think? Hey, do you wanna sign my program?”

“Uh...sure.”

“Sure to which question?” Erin asks, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“The...the program thing. I don’t know about Izzy.”

“Oh, okay.” She whips a crisply folded show program out of her beat up purse and hands it over to Roman, along with a sharpie. “Anywhere you like.” She flashes him a smile that quickly morphs into a frown. “Are you sure Izzy’s alright? Should I text her? Wait, should you text her?”

Normally Roman loves Erin’s infectious energy, but at this particular moment he feels like he’s being yapped at by a small dog. “You can text her if you like, I suppose. I’ll...I’ll text her when I get home. Don’t want to seem too clingy.” he tries to return the smile, but he’s already overshared. Ugh. He hates oversharing, but it usually slips out when he’s nervous.

“Hey, are you guys alright?” Erin blurts. “Wait. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Never mind!”

She starts to turn around but remembers her program and comes back. Roman’s just been staring at it, watching as the ink in his looping signature seeps and fuzzes into the page. She takes it gently from his hands, then leans in and asks quietly “But are you though? You can tell me to fuck off but like, I care about y’all.”

Roman tries again to force a smile and fails miserably. “I wouldn’t tell you to fuck off, Erin. That’s so...uncultured.”

Her eyes get even bigger and she half crouches on the floor so they’re almost at eye level. “Oh my gosh, did something happen? Are you okay? Do you wanna talk?”

Roman pushes a hand over his face. He tries to say “I’m fine,” but his voice cracks into a whisper on “fine”, to his absolute horror. Ryan the lights guy is still talking; he doesn’t even seem to have noticed that Roman’s no longer paying attention.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, this time actually managing a fake smile, and waving a hand to dismiss her. Maybe it’s rude, but he can’t bring himself to care much about that right now. Erin scampers off, program clutched in hand. She’s talking to the witch, who still has at least half a face of makeup on.

Roman sighs and takes a halfhearted bite of his cupcake pancakes. There’s about half a stack left but he doesn’t feel like eating anymore. He feels like driving straight home and going to sleep for a long time. He can’t even comprehend what just happened.

Instead, though, he sits and listens to Ryan ramble on, walks around to all the tables and cracks lame jokes, poses for about a hundred cheesy selfies at the whim of anyone with a phone and an instagram account. He listens to his phone buzz as each of them tag him, as more people respond and ask him how the show went. Texts which he’s sure are his mom wondering where he is blip at him.

He pulls out his phone and puts it on do not disturb, and then continues to force all his energy into pretending to be absolutely fine. He is, after all, an actor, and he absolutely refuses to ruin his last cast party for everyone else.

“I hope this doesn’t ruin your night.” Ugh. It was well and truly ruined, what was she thinking? Roman closes his eyes to avoid playing back that last conversation in his head.

“Hey dude, I’m heading out, you?” Someone’s thumping his shoulder. He opens his eyes and looks up: Rapunzel’s prince, Sean, is standing next to him. Roman forces another smile; this is his out.

“Yeah, I should probably get going as well.”

It’s still quite a production to leave, everyone wants hugs and there are inevitably a few people who forgot selfies. Normally Roman enjoys his near celebrity status--being top pick for lead role is like the drama club version of star quarterback--but now he just wants to go home, wants to collapse, wants to leave.

By the time he finally walks out of the building it’s nearly two in the morning. And that’s when he remembers that move in is tomorrow, and an agonized groan builds up in his chest. Riverpoint is pretty close, but he doesn’t relish having to drive up and move boxes when he’s this tired and devastated. By the time he gets home both of his parents are asleep and the silent notifications on his phone have built up into a mountain of multicolored boxes and text. He walks upstairs to his room, strips to his boxers, and collapses on the bed, too tired to properly put on pajamas. The house is too hot to bother with that anyway. Someone’s forgotten to turn the AC on, but Roman doesn’t have the spoons to go and fix it, even though it is uncomfortable.

He opens his phone and starts scrolling through the myriad of notifications. Mostly instagram mentions, like he thought. Lots of comments telling him congratulations. I’m gonna miss you. Good luck in college. This cast was my favorite. Remember when the tower fell over in rehearsal and you tried to catch Erin but she just landed on top of you…

Nothing from Izzy.

He opens his texts, scrolls through them a few times, just in case...in case hers hasn’t loaded. After that doesn’t work he opens their messaging history (her contact name is “Wizard of Iz” followed by every heart emoji available) and scrolls through that for a while instead. _Goodnight, I love you. Love you too. What are you doing tomorrow? Hey, meet me in the park. I got you a surprise. The fair was fun last night._

_I love you so much._

Roman scrolls down to the bottom again and starts typing. _I miss you._ Delete. Clingy, ridiculous. He’d seen her a few hours ago.

 _I can’t stop thinking about you._ Delete: worse.

 _Let’s talk._ Too demanding. Delete.

 _Can we talk?_ Too tentative. Delete.

 _Hey,_ he types, and lets it sit here without sending.

And then three little grey dots pop up on her side and he freezes, panicked. He watches them bump up and down, his finger over then send button. But eventually they disappear, and no text shows up. He waits a cautious thirty seconds and then deletes his “hey”, tries again.

 _let’s talk,_ all lowercase. He sends it before he can think about why it isn’t right.

The three grey dots pop up almost immediately, and then they stay up so long that Roman is convinced she must be writing a novel. But when the text pops up, all it says is shouldn’t we wait till morning? Like she knows what’s coming.

I’d like to talk now please, he types, this time pressing send immediately, and then wondering whether that doesn’t sound too demanding. Too pushy. He has to be careful. He hopes the “please” will take the edge off the request.

The dots pop up and he sets the phone on the bed next to him and stares up at the cheap glow in the dark stars stuck to his ceiling, waiting for the ding so he doesn’t have to go through the agony of watching the dots stop and reappear over and over again.

Unfortunately this strategy doesn’t work very well. Now he’s just on edge for the notification sound.

Ding. He rolls over immediately, picking up his phone. If you want. I don’t think it’s a good idea, though.

He starts to type out a response but then deletes it before it’s even fully formed in his head. He tries again, over and over and over, but he can’t scoop up a complete thought and his chest aches and it’s just too hot in his room and in a moment he’s asleep, tears leaking onto his pillow before he’s totally subconscious.

He’s woken up what seems like minutes later by loud thumps outside his door.

“Roman!! Romaaaan! Get up get up get up!”

His brothers are giggling loudly and then apparently full body slamming themselves into his door, or at least that’s what it sounds like. He wouldn’t put it past them. “Shut uuuup.” he groans into his pillow. Every one of his limbs ache.

There’s more giggling, then the sound of pattering footsteps. “Ooooh I’m gonna tell momma you said a bad word!” squeals a voice from outside, probably Patrick.

“ ‘Shut up’ isn’t a bad word!” Roman protests uselessly.

“He said it again!” squeaks an even higher voice. Griffin. And then the footsteps patter away down the stairs, presumably to tell on him.

Roman rolls over and growls as he thumps onto the floor; he hadn’t realized he was so close to the edge. There’s a muffled vibration as his phone goes off underneath him, and he remembers last night in a rush.

He scrolls through his notifications until he sees a text icon. Wizard of Iz, Two messages. _Are you okay?_ Then, beneath that, older, _Roman? You still up?_

There’s nothing after that. He lets out a groan and stands up, hunts around his room for a set of clothes that he hasn’t packed already. He manages to find a slightly too small aeropostale tee and a pair of distressed skinny jeans hiding under his dresser. He’s just pulled them on when there’s a louder knock on his door.

He clears his throat in case he’s been crying. “Mom?”

“Roman, why aren’t you ready yet? We have to go! Get out here!”

Oh. Right. Move in day. He tugs his shirt over his head and yells through the fabric. “Coming!”

He roots around in his room until he finds a gym bag he’d gotten in some freebie years ago and scoops all the essentials that he hasn’t packed yet into it: toothbrush, deodorant, shaving cream, razor, phone charger. He’s sure he’s forgetting something but he honestly couldn’t care less right now.

Ten minutes later he’s downstairs on the couch scarfing down a bagel and watching Saturday morning cartoons with his overly giggly brothers, who have been tamed by the tv.

“Do you want me to drive you?” his mother asks from the kitchen, where she’s frying eggs. “I can totally drive you, honey.”

“Mom, it’s fine, I-”

“I think I’d better drive you,” she muses. “I know you wanted to go alone but it’s such a hassle to get your father to drive me over there just so I can pick up the car, even if it is close by.”

Roman slouches further down the couch and groans again. “Motherrr….”

But he can tell she’s not listening. He resigns himself to a good chunk of his morning being invaded by country music and countless anecdotes about what college was like when she was attending and don’t go to too many parties, don’t drink, I know you’re not gonna listen so for goodness sake watch your drink, call me, don’t skip class, set an alarm, eat healthy. He’s shuddering just thinking of it. He shoves the rest of the bagel in his mouth, grabs his knapsack, and walks over to the garage door.

“Mom, I’ll be in the car,” he yells over his shoulder, shutting the door on the sounds of cooking and his mesmerized siblings yelling random things at the tv.

He catches the tail end of her yelling “Coming!” followed by the click click click of stilettos. He’ll never understand why she wears heels in the house. Something about feeling tall.

He just lets her ramble on the car ride. It isn’t very long but he still doesn’t have the energy to pretend he’s alright. Instead he obsessively checks his phone, even though Izzy was the last person to text, and types and retypes messages before deleting them all, offering his mom a steady stream of “mhms” and “oh, really?”s.

The ride doesn’t take as much time as it usually does, or at least, that’s what it feels like. Roman slumps in the passenger seat for a moment, checking his phone one last time. He’s scrolling through his notifications when he sees another text notif--this one’s not from Izzy. He checks the timestamp. Three am last night, from Erin. Shit.

Three texts. _Hey, are you okay?_ Another one, a couple of minutes later. _The offer for me to shut up, drop this, and never bring it up again still stands._ Another text ten minutes after that one. _But I’m worried about you._ Nothing after that. Roman grinds his teeth, cursing himself for ignoring everything but Izzy.

“Roman! Are you coming?”

Roman scrambles out of the car. His mom is already pulling things out of the trunk. The last thing he wants is for his mother to start introducing himself to his future peers as “the star of the drama department”--and he knows she one hundred percent will. Roman’s sure she gets him mixed up with Patrick sometimes, thinking that she’s a kindergarten mom with him all over again. He walks over to the trunk, grabs a box, and stumbles after her down the path until he’s a little ahead of her.

“How come you know where my hall is?” he asks her in a half grumble.

“I may have taken a little look at all the maps in my spare time,” she says with a small chuckle, like he’s supposed to find this charming.

“You what? Mom, that’s, you know...just a tad bit creepy.”

“Creepy?” she says in mock horror. “I want to get to know my son’s school, that’s ‘a tad bit creepy’?”

Roman stares down at his box and frowns. It’s going to be a long day.


	5. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil’s mastered the knack of replacing one kind of pain with another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, kids. Here’s the beginning of the dark stuff. My poor Virgil is...not very good at coping. As always I don’t condone any of his actions and if you’re upset by this chapter and need someone to talk to....my dms are open. But!! Please don’t read this if you’re not in a good place to do so. Love y’all. <3

“I’m not going. You can’t make me.”

“Virgil, please…”

Virgil flops onto his completely unmade bed and screams quietly into the mattress, sits there for a couple extra seconds with his jaw gaping for good measure, then closes his mouth, swallows, and tries again, this time directing the noise into words. “I said NO, Patton. I’m _NOT GOING_.”

There’s a freshman welcome barbecue on the main lawn and Patton’s been needling him to come for the past twenty minutes, but it feels more like years. It takes a lot of social energy to reject any kind of invitation from Patton, never mind rejecting it angrily, but he’d rather be angry than suppressed right now. He feels like Patton’s forcing his hand.

He can practically feel the hurt and bad emotion emanating from Patton, who is standing in the narrow doorway and making puppy eyes at him. That’s the problem with Patton; he feels everything so damn deep down. He never shoulders a feeling, he sets it squarely on his chest and lets it sink in hard. Virgil gets up and walks to the door.

“I’ll talk to you later, Pat,” he says, and closes it in his face.

He feels awful. It’s really not Patton’s fault, but he suspects Patton isn’t taking him seriously. Virgil doesn’t think he can survive, living with anyone but Patton. And Patton seems to think it’ll be nothing but a new adventure.

Well, it would be for Patton. He’d already cozied up to Remy. _Everything_ was a new adventure to Patton.

The guilt is already sticking to the roof of his mouth, sealing it shut, even as the frustration and anger builds up in his fists. And his new roommate...he doesn’t even want to think about him.

When he walked into the room there had been a boy sprawled out on the second bed, which was completely made. A dozen or so Disney posters covered the wall above it, and a cork board above one of the desks was covered in pictures. Virgil was too far away to see them, but he could tell that they were all group or couple pictures.

Presumably his very social roommate with his many, many friends.

A bluetooth speaker on the desk next to a sleek macbook was playing something from the Hercules soundtrack at top volume. Boxes were splayed across the room, some of them on what Virgil assumed was supposed to be his side.

When he’d pulled the door open the kid had looked up from his phone and scowled. “Ah, rude! You could’ve at least knocked! This is my room, you know!”

He really talked like that, like every statement had an exclamation point at the end. He was long and lanky but solidly built. He looked like the kind of guy who could pick Virgil up and punt him like a football. And he was wearing expensive clothes, all name brand, but he was wearing them so casually they might as well have been Goodwill finds. He had his legs up and his ankles crossed as he lounged across his bed, like those cute pictures that roommates took of each other and posted to their studyblrs with hashtags like “aesthetic” ”dorm life” and “best roomie”.

Virgil immediately disliked him.

“It’s my room, too, jackass,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth, even though what he’d been thinking of in his head was a lot more diplomatic.

The kid on the bed raised an eyebrow and sat up super slowly, as dramatically as though it was the worst thing anyone had ever said to him.

“Well,” he said in a shocked tone, “I can see I’m not welcome here,”

And then he had taken his phone and walked out. Virgil noted with distaste how expensive his shoes looked before slamming the door after him. Being considered a rich snob, it didn’t usually take him too long to spot another one.

“Well,” he said to the empty room, “that went well.”

Since then he’d been wandering his room, debating going out to the car for more boxes, considering leaving all of Patton’s boxes on the sidewalk and just driving back home, or plotting what the best way to survive by locking himself in the bathroom all semester would be.

In the end, none of the options won out, and so he spent a few uncomfortable minutes pacing around the room before finally getting completely sick of the Disney songs pulsing from the bluetooth speaker and slamming the laptop shut. Normally Virgil hated touching other people’s things, but he couldn’t even hear himself think. It was like...roommate kid....thought he was at a rave. A Disney rave.

A few minutes later he was lying face down on the floor hyperventilating into the carpet, and Patton had chosen that exact moment to helpfully pop in and let him know that he was going to the freshman barbecue. And so Virgil had gotten up, walked over to the bed, and done approximately the same thing there.

His roommate still hadn’t come back yet, and he’d lied and said he must’ve just missed him when Patton asked. Virgil seriously hoped he’d gone to the freshman barbecue as well.

Virgil hoped he would make tons and tons of snobby, dramatic friends and spend all of his time outside of his room, taking a ridiculous number of group photos and leaving Virgil firmly out of all of it.

Actually, Virgil hoped he could go straight to the housing office and get them to change his living arrangements back to strictly Patton only as soon as possible. Or better yet get counselling to convince Patton to forget about this whole college thing and go home with him. Live out a nice, boring existence at home.

Virgil’s been lying on the floor thinking all these things when a tiny voice in the back of his head says “you know...you could always just bleed all these feelings away.”

Normally he would fight it, even if it was the smallest, most pathetic fight in the history of humanity. But I’m comfortable here. But I’ll have to actually look at the blood. But...just. Tiny excuses. Tiny little useless excuses. But today he listens to the voice and says, “You know what? You’re right.”

Almost out loud. Almost.

He gets up, slips the keycard into his pocket (he’s been holding it in his fist this entire time) and sneaks out of the hall, looking out for Patton lest he mistake his sudden activity for unexpected enthusiasm for the freshman barbecue. Luckily he makes it to the car with no encounters.

Patton’s left all of Virgil’s boxes stacked neatly on the sidewalk next to the car; all his boxes must be inside already. A peace offering. Or, really, just a nice thing that Patton did because he’s Patton and nice is what he does. Virgil feels another pang of guilt shoot through him, but he pushes all thoughts of the outside, non depressed world out of his head and picks up the first two boxes, balancing them carefully on top of each other.

It doesn’t take him very long to take all the boxes back to his room. The book box had been the heaviest, and going downhill really helped. It only takes a little digging to find the roll of paper towels stuffed with bandaids wrapped carefully in a towel, and a little more careful looking to find the book containing the razor blades he’s taped to the inside flap of the back cover. It’s not particularly subtle, but you’d still really have to be looking to find anything.

He steps into their suite bathroom, locks the doors on both sides (great, he thinks, the neighbors are going to hate me already--hopefully they’re at the stupid freshman barbecue too) and starts his work.

His hands are shaking a bit; it’s been a few days since he’s done this. He understands, he really does, why this is considered an addiction. He feels drunk; feels like the first time he’d taken an edible and all the colors in his eyes had swirled and blurred together and lifted him up in a happy little rainbow bubble; recalls the numb warmth pushing against his hands.

This is like that, with the shaking and the adrenaline, but it feels sharper somehow. Clearer. Weed and alcohol had dulled all his senses; cutting enhances them. Brings everything into needlepoint focus.

He keeps going and going until he feels a little delirious, until the blood splashes on the counter and he lunges forward to dab up the spill with a paper towel. He’s learned the hard way that even on supposedly easily cleanable surfaces blood can leave its mark.

That seems to be his cue that enough is enough. He runs his arms under the cold water, teeth bearing down hard on the front of his hoodie so he doesn’t cry out. This pain is different somehow, worse. He hates this part.

But eventually it’s over and he dabs his arms dry, painstakingly slowly, with a few paper towels. Then he gets to work spreading bandaids over every inch of his arms where he’s left his mark. He would prefer gauze and medical tape but that’s simply not practical right now. Anyway, gauze makes everything look more serious. Someone is more likely to gasp and yelp “oh my gosh what happened?” over gauze than they are over a dozen bandaids. Of course the bandaids look pretty suspicious but they still give Virgil the slimmest of outs-- “had a fight with a cat”-- if someone for any reason catches him without his ever present hoodie.

Ugh, he hadn’t even thought about changing in a room with someone who isn’t Patton.

Patton knows, of course, but he mostly pretends not to. Except when it gets real bad. Then the talk of seeing a therapist comes up.

Virgil grinds the heels of his hands carefully into his eyes, trying not to bend his wrists too much and reopen the cuts.

He’s focusing too hard on that to remember to stop himself from crying, though. He usually cries after he cuts. Somewhat because he feels disgusting, but also because he’s relieved.

He’s always relieved, to some degree or another.

He’s mastered the knack of crying silently. When someone from the other side knocks, he calls “just a minute,” voice practiced and steadied, clears his supplies, and gets out.

He sits on the bed, feeling better and worse and too hot in his hoodie but too nervous to take it off, even with the door closed and locked. After all, roommate kid has a key, too. He peeks his head out of the door for a second just to check his name on the door because it’s bothering him that he doesn’t know it.

Roman. Ugh. Sounds just as pretentious as he seems.

Virgil manages to find the energy to pull out all his bedding but is only halfway through pulling the fitted sheet over his mattress when he collapses and decides he’s not moving another inch until someone makes him.

He falls asleep about five minutes later, and misses the well meaning knock of Remy, who’s come back because Patton asked her to check on him.


	6. Patton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Patton feels like he’s nothing but a pile of emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am…so sorry…my upload schedule is absolutely fucked. College is hard, y’all. Anyway. I’m posting it now so that’s what counts. Eating disorder stuff starts in this chapter so as always, proceed with caution.

The moment Remy slips off Patton is instantly lost in the crowd. The voices and laughter mingle in his head into a mess of colors. He feels like levitating. He’s here. Finally. He’s off on his own and--and he can go anywhere he wants, talk to anyone--an older guy bumps into him and Patton turns his most brilliant smile on him, jolting a surprised grin onto the other guy’s face.

The air smells amazing. Patton can identify barbecue of some kind, of course, but he can also smell what he thinks is fresh brownies and cherry blossoms. It’s like trekking through heaven. He doesn’t even mind that it’s so hot. No way is he going back to his room now just to put on shorts. He hasn’t even unpacked, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind. There are people out here. People. And food and games and--Patton almost stops dead. And music? Is that live music? There’s no way he’s leaving now.

It takes him a while but he eventually tracks the singing to a large gazebo. A few upperclassmen are standing up there with guitars and mics and amplifiers, singing a slightly off key (but nevertheless enjoyable) rendition of Don’t Stop Believing. Students are scattered all over the steps, talking and singing along and eating.

That’s when Patton’s reminded how long it’s been since he and Virgil had breakfast, and he sets off in search of food. Music’s fun, but it’s not gonna fill his stomach.

His eyes light up when he finally spots the food tables, which seem to be about a mile long stacked end to end--then his face immediately falls when he sees how long the line is.

Oh, well. It’s probably best to get in line now rather than later. Patton’s sure if he waits any longer all the food will be gone. He treks to the back of the line and settles in for a long, hot wait, then texts Remy.

_How is he?_

_Not answering the door_ , Remy texts back.

Patton frowns. He’s about to respond when another text pops up. _He’ll be fine. He’s probably just mad, he’ll cool down. You guys are like best friends right?_

 _Right_ , Patton texts back, biting his lip. Then he adds: _Are you gonna come get food? I’m saving you a spot in line._

 _On my way already._ Then, a second later, _Can you wave?_

Patton waves a hand over his head and a second later Remy comes bounding over to him. She’s changed into a tiny sundress vibrant enough to match her eyeshadow, and her sunglasses have still not come off. “Hiya!” she chirps. “Enjoying yourself? Met anyone new?”

“Oh, definitely,” says Patton, grinning. “Haven’t met anyone yet, though. I’ve been too...excited, I guess. So many people to start a conversation with, it’s hard to know where to start.” In truth he feels like he might vibrate out of his skin with excitement. He’s shaky with the movement of it all, of being on the road, on campus, in the res hall, out here. Shaky with the heat and weight of Virgil’s frustration and what that means for him. Before he can think about it anymore, however, he’s interrupted.

“Here, I gotchu,” says Remy, and taps the shoulder of the girl ahead of them in line. She turns to look at them, vaguely curious, and Patton’s somewhat stunned by how obviously and boldly attractive she is. That’s not usually the kind of thing he notices. She’s got dark brown hair waterfalling down her shoulders, reaching nearly to her waist. It curls in tight corkscrews and the flyaways make a bright halo around her head in the light. Freckles are flung haphazardly across her nose, partially obscured by the oddly patterned gold makeup she’s wearing. She’s drawn swirls and solid blocks of gold all around her eyes. It looks like she’s wearing a gold leaf mask. Her features are clear and sharp, and she holds herself like a dancer, as though every movement is a choreographed step.

“Hi!” Remy smiles. “Patton’s trying to meet new people. You’re a new person. Meet each other.”

“Oh,” says the girl softly, and giggles. “Hi, Patton.” She holds out a hand for him to shake, and he takes it. Despite the heat her skin is cool and delicate; Patton feels like he’s holding a baby bird. “Are you a freshman too?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah.” He can’t think of anything to say after that, so he just keeps smiling.

“And this is…?” the girl asks, indicating Remy.

“Oh, I’m Remy.” says Remy, shifting her weight from hip to hip, watching the interaction between them and grinning. “We’re roommates.”

The girl raises one eyebrow. “Wow, they let you live with your girlfriend?” she asks. “That must’ve taken some fighting. How’d you do it?”

Patton chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, we’re not-”

“Patton’s single,” Remy says helpfully. “Very single,” she adds, eyes sparkling. Patton looks at her, a what-are-you-doing kind of look, but Remy doesn’t seem to take the hint and anyway...Patton’s not sure he minds all that much that this girl knows he’s single.

“So, Patton,” the girl asks, “where you from?”

“Ah, little town in the middle of nowhere. Victoria. You probably wouldn’t know it.”

The girl’s eyes light up. “Actually, I have a cousin in Victoria.”

“Oh, really? That’s cool. I wonder if I know her.”

They fall to talking about Victoria and the girl’s glamorous cousin (who evidently moved there because she had eloped with a boy that her parents, the girl’s aunt and uncle, had thoroughly disapproved of).

Remy stands by and smirks at the whole thing, swirling the seemingly unmeltable ice in her coffee. Patton’s not sure he’s entirely comfortable with that, but he really likes this girl, and with the way they’re talking it feels like it’s taken about five minutes to get the food table instead of the twenty that it probably is. The array of food is impressive: fruit bowls, a number of cold salads including potato, macaroni, and tuna, Indian rice, black beans, baked beans, tortilla chips, guacamole, and of course barbecue. Barbecued chicken, barbecued ribs, brisket...Patton can’t believe the school has the money to pay for all of this. Then again, he reasons, that’s probably where ridiculous tuition costs come in.

Patton takes what is probably way too much food and follows Remy and the girl they’d met in line to a clear spot on the grass.

“In the summer,” the girl tells him as they sit, “they bring a huge projector out here and show movies. It happens every weekend until it gets too cold.”

“Really?” asks Patton. “That’s so cool! Where did you learn that?”

“My sister used to go here,” the girl says breezily. She then proceeds to tell Patton everything she knows about the school: secret passages under the theater building, hauntings in the residence halls, scandals and epic senior pranks and legendary students. Patton doesn’t even feel like talking; he just wants to bask in the light coming off her.

About an hour later when the line’s died down he goes up to get more food even though he’s full; he’s not going to pass up an opportunity to eat barbecue, especially barbecue this good. The girl doesn’t seem to mind that he’s not contributing much to the conversation; instead, she seems to smile bigger or lean closer at his little “mhm”s and “gosh, what happened then?”s. Remy gets up and leaves and comes back and he hardly notices.

Finally his plate is emptied for a second time and the sun’s actually started to sink. Patton can’t believe how much time has passed. They’d been talking for ages. The lawn was still buzzing, of course, but people were starting to wander off to do other things--looking for freebies and checking out the halls. He suddenly remembers that his room still isn’t unpacked, and he hasn’t heard one word from Virgil. Not a single solitary “I’m okay” text.

He starts to get up with the intention of telling Remy that they should probably go unpack the room and falls back with a half groan instead. “Ugh, I don’t ever want to look at a piece of food again in my life.”

The girl giggles. “Should’ve slowed down, maybe?”

He smiles and shrugs. “Maybe.” He turns to Remy. “You wanna start unpacking?”

The girl brings a napkin delicately to her mouth. “You guys haven’t even started yet?”

“I was having too much fun,” says Patton sheepishly.

The girl tosses a long strand of hair over her shoulder. “Well, you two should probably go do that. I don’t mind, I’ve got other people to talk to.”

Maybe she doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but the tiniest cold shiver runs down Patton’s spine. “Hey, wait,” he says. “You’ve gotta at least give me your number, after all that.”

He swallows hard. He’s used to approaching people, used to being what most people would call ridiculously outgoing, but he’s never asked for someone’s number so blatantly before.

She gives him a coquettish smile. “I suppose.” She holds out a hand. “Unlock your phone?”

He does, and hands it over. She takes it, eyes flickering mischievously between his eyes and the screen, and a moment later hands it back to him, flicking it off before she does so. Then she gets up and leaves, disappearing into the crowd so fast that Patton doesn’t even have the time to process and call out a goodbye until it’s too late. He looks up at Remy, who arches an eyebrow at him high enough that he can see it over her sunglasses.

“Well,” she says. “That was eventful.”

“Do you like her?” Patton asks anxiously as they start to clear away the plates and napkins.

“Too quick for any kind of judgement,” Remy says evenly. “She is interesting, I’ll give her that. Hey, did she ever say what her name is?”

“Shoot,” says Patton. “I can’t believe I completely forgot to ask.”

“Check your phone, maybe?” Remy says.

Patton pulls out his phone and brings up contacts. She hasn’t exactly hidden herself; she’s the very first contact on the list. Or, at least, he assumes that that’s her. He’s not sure he knows any other “snake emoji you’ll see winking face”es.

But he has been known to make mistakes.

He shoots off a quick text to Virgil-- How ya doing, buddy?-- and leaves it at that. Of course he’s worried, but it never does any good to push at Virgil. He doesn’t know how to push back and inevitably the whole thing just gets messy and sad and more often than not it ends in tears for one or both of them.

Walking back to his room already seems the tiniest bit familiar, and Patton is hoping that by the end of the semester this path will be seared into his brain. He wants it to feel like home. He can already imagine walking back from a class or lunch or coffee with Remy wearing matching scarves and cardigans in the fall, talking and laughing.

Somehow he can’t see Virgil in a scarf or cardigan.

When he and Remy make it back to the room, just the sight of all the boxes stacked on the floor makes him want to collapse and never move again. But then Remy bumps him from behind and says “get moving, slowpoke, or we’ll miss movie night,” and he gets a surge of energy.

“There’s movie night?” he says, perking up.

“Uhuh. Snake emoji girl was right, they sometimes do them on the lawn, but I think tonight it’ll be in the drama building, in the theater. In case it rains.”

“What’re we watching?” he asks.

Remy shrugs. “No idea. But a movie’s a movie, right?”

Patton’s not entirely sure he agrees, so he just shrugs back and changes the subject. “Are you really going to call her snake emoji girl now?”

“Yup,” says Remy, grinning. “It’s stuck in my head and won’t get out. She’s going to forever be snake emoji girl so get used to it. Unless you’d prefer eye makeup sorceress, Rapunzel of curls, or little miss talkative.”

“Um…” Patton can’t really say that any of those are appealing.

“Great. Snake emoji girl it is.”

“If you say so.”

“...We should probably be unpacking instead of sitting on the beds and talking.”

Patton groans and stands up, but continues talking. It becomes rather quickly apparent that the two of them aren’t really able to be in the same room without talking, but they do manage to get all the boxes opened and their contents dumped out on the floor. This is very satisfying at first, but then Patton looks at the huge mess they’ve made of the floor and kind of wants to pull his hair out.

“No worries!” says Remy. “We just...uh...we need music.”

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, runs to the kitchen and comes back with a red solo cup, and puts on Pandora before placing the phone carefully in the cup. The music echoes out, a little tinny and artificial but definitely louder. Remy’s selected some song with sugary sweet pop tunes that all sound like they were played on the bus on the way to school in 2012-- Party in the USA, Girlfriend, Call Me Maybe, et cetera.

Honestly it’s not too far off from what Patton usually listens to.

“So where’d you meet Virgil? What’s his deal?” Remy asks as they start dividing up dresser and closet spaces, refolding the clothes that got jostled in the moving process or in being tossed to the floor (which is pretty much all of them).

“We grew up together,” Patton tells her. “We were in the same kindergarten class and...I dunno, I just kinda gravitated to him. The kid just looked so lonely, y’know?”

Remy glances over at him. “You remember thinking that all the way back then?”

Patton frowns. “I’m not sure. It’s just kind of a….feeling from a memory, that I remembered.” he shrugs. “And anyway, just look at him. Kid’s always had kind of a...lonely demeanor.”

Patton had always sort of hated that. Hated that his friendship wasn’t enough to lift the moodiness that seemed to settle around Virgil like dark clouds.

“Anyway,” he says, “We were friends in kindergarten, and just...never stopped. He had a whole lot of stuff going on in middle school, and it only got worse in high school….and I just...I wanted to be there for him, y’know?” He stares down at his tie dyed green tee shirt. “He’s like my brother. Heh, even my siblings just seem to think that he’s part of the family.”

Remy nods from her seat on the floor, going through a pile of sundresses. “I think that’s really great,” she says softly. “That you guys have been friends for so long.”

Patton smiles at her. “Well, hopefully we’ll be friends for just as long.”

Remy giggles. “That’s mathematically impossible, you dork. You’ll never know me for longer or as long as you’ve known him, because you’ll always have known him for whatever the number of years between kindergarten and freshman year of high school is longer than you’ve known me.”

Patton giggles at her. “All the same,” he says. “We’ll be close, right?”

“Definitely,” says Remy, shaking out a sundress patterned with red poppies. “Speaking of,” she says, suddenly sharp, “You never told me your thoughts on snake emoji girl.”

“That’s gonna get awkward to say real quick,” Patton mutters.

“Snemojirl, then,” says Remy, making Patton snort. “What’s the deal?”

“Aw, geez, I don’t know, Remy!” he says. “This is literally our first day on campus. We haven’t even had classes start yet.”

“Buuuut…” Remy prompts, wiggling her eyebrows. Patton sighs. “No ‘buts’ yet. No matter how good they look,” he adds cheekily.

Remy pouts. “But you’ll talk to me like we’re best friends and this is the first day we’re even meeting in person.”

Patton holds up a hand. “Actually- can we maybe limit talking about that?”

Remy looks puzzled. “Limit talking about what.?”

“About...us knowing each other before this.”

Remy only looks more confused. “But Patton, literally every set of roommates knows who the other roommate is going to be before they get to campus. Can you imagine meeting your roommate for the first time as soon as you get to campus? On the day you’re literally supposed to start living together?”

Patton chuckles uncomfortably, but he’s sure it sounds more like he’s choking. “Um, Remy-?”

“What?”

Remy looks up from her pile of sundresses and seems to catch his meaning. “Oh. Ohhh. Wait. Not oh. I’m confused. Explain. Why did Virgil just meet his roommate today?”

“He...he thought his roommate was going to be me.”

“Yeah? And you guys had some kind of problem with administration, right?”

“Uh...not exactly, no.” Patton buries his face in the shirt he’s holding. It smells like it’s been drying in the sun, like heat and dregs of laundry detergent and dryer sheets and his cologne. “Virge and I requested a room together. Well. We were supposed to. He requested a room with me. I….” Patton lets out a soft snort. “I was really, really stupid, Remy.”

“What’d you do?” Remy asks softly, and Patton can hear the concern in her voice.

“I withdrew my request to room with Virgil and put in preferences for a random roommate, and that’s how I ended up with you. That’s why I actually had to use the gender neutral opt in, because I was looking for people that were...not...Virgil.” Patton unburies his face from the tee shirt. It sounds awful when he puts it that way.

“Oh my god, why?” Remy asks. “Did you tell Virgil?”

Patton picks up the next tee shirt, tossing the first one into a drawer. “Did you see how upset he was? Of course I didn’t tell him.”

“But why’d you do it?” Remy repeats.

Patton balls up the next shirt he’s holding almost angrily, picks up the next one. “Because I really, really really want him to be able to survive on his own. He’s been clinging to me his whole life, and it’s not like I don’t mind….heck, if I could I’d never have him leave my side for the rest of our lives...but…” Patton bites his lower lip. “He’s dependent on me, I think.”

“Ohhh,” says Remy softly.

“I didn’t want him to just...y’know, keep on being the exact same all through college. And I feel like if I didn’t...fling him into the deep end, so to speak, he’d never learn to swim.

Remy stands up and lays a hand on his arm. “You’re not his dad, y’know.” Her tone is still gentle. “It’s not your responsibility to make him grow.”

Patton half pulls away, frustrated. “But no one else is going to do it! His parents treat him like some kind of ornamental goldfish! And like, not even like they know about and care about the proper treatment of ornamental goldfish! Just like...bad goldfish owners!”

“Still,” says Remy, “that doesn’t mean it should be your job.”

Patton groans and flops onto his bed. “I guess.”

Remy mirrors him, flopping onto her bed. “You wanna ask housing if we can do bunk beds?”

“Huh?”

“Enough serious talk, Pats, we’re gonna make our room look awesome.”

“Okay,” says Patton quietly.

“It’ll be fun,” Remy presses.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any hobbies, Patton?”

“Uh...keeping Virgil out of trouble?” Patton tries to joke.

“Ha, ha. I mean fun stuff.”

“Before we talk about that, Remy, do you promise not to tell Virgil that I withdrew my request?”

Remy props herself up on her elbow and frowns at him from across the room. “Hm. I suppose so. But I honestly think you should tell him at some point. It’s not good to keep stuff like that from your friends. Especially if it’s eating away at you like this is for you.”

“Okay,” says Patton in a half groan. “I’ll tell him. At some point. I promise. But I’ll tell him after he discovers that he actually really likes his new roommate, and they’re super close friends, and their dorm looks so awesome he won’t wanna move, and he’s decided he likes all his classes, and-”

“Okay, okay,” says Remy, waving a hand at him. “But hobbies?”

Patton rolls over so he can look at her. “Well...I really like astronomy. So I do a lot of stargazing.”

Remy perks up. “Have you seen the observatory yet?”

“Yeah!” says Patton, lighting up like a glowstick. “Isn’t it awesome? I can’t wait to be there at night.”

“Me neither.”

They manage to unpack the room fairly quickly, outdated pop playing in the background and making Patton feel like he’s in a slightly lame but weirdly motivating music video for a teen summer blockbuster. The montage of unpacking at the awesome new school.

Two hours later, everything is put away and Remy is leaning over Patton’s shoulder as they check the internet for which constellations will be visible that night. Patton’s almost put Virgil out of his mind, determined to give him some space, when he gets a long overdue text back.

_Patton. Can we meet somewhere that’s not my room? I’m not okay._

Patton’s heart sinks but he stands up from the computer, fingers already flying over the keypad. _Sure, what’s up? Where do you want to meet?_

_By the river, maybe? I don’t know. I’ll tell you when we get there._

“What’s up?” Remy asks when Patton stands up. Patton must be frowning pretty hard at his phone.

“Uh...Virgil needs me. I’m not sure what’s wrong. I’ll be back later for movie night.” He gives her a halfhearted smile and pushes out the door before she can ask questions.

The river is almost right behind their hall. Patton has to walk along it for a while before he finds Virgil. Almost no one is around; Patton figures they’re all still at the barbecue or exploring the actual buildings on the grounds. Whatever it is, the nearest person is at least a quarter mile away on the other side of campus.

He’s perched on the guardrail of the bridge, hunched together, earbuds in. He looks like the album cover of a depressing band that died out in 2007. But then again, that’s how Virgil usually looks. It’s just striking Patton in particular right now.

“Virgil, buddy, what’s up?” he calls before he’s fully there.

Virgil looks up and Patton immediately goes still. His eyeliner is running all over his face; he hasn’t even attempted to wipe it away. He looks like he just got done sobbing.

As soon as Patton walks onto the bridge, Virgil hops off the railing, throws himself into Patton’s arms.

“P-patton, I h-hate my roommate. S-so much.”

“Aw, Virge,” says Patton, recovering from his shock enough to trail a hand over Virgil’s back. “Are you sure he’s that bad? I mean, you’ve known him, what, a few hours?”

“I d-don’t care. I w-wanna kill him.”

“Whoa there kiddo, that’s a bit of a leap, don’t you think?”

Virgil makes a vaguely disgruntled noise and wipes a hand under his eyes, smearing the eyeliner across his cheeks.

“I wanna go home, Pat. Just wanna go home.”

“This...this’ll feel like home soon enough, Virgil,” says Patton, hunting around for words. “Look, maybe this’ll be a really good experience for you! You got real good classes, didn’t you? Philosophy and biology and…” Patton can’t remember what else Virgil’s taking, so he just expands on those. “And you love philosophy, right? I can barely keep up with you. And you’re always drawing animals, and you have all those plants in your room.”

“It’s not the same,” Virgil mumbles. “Pat. I had a really bad panic attack just now. I think...I think they might be getting worse.”

Patton’s frown deepens. “Well, we can’t have that,” he says. “Why didn’t you call? Or walk over to my room? It’s only a few rooms down.”

“Couldn’t,” says Virgil. “I froze up again. Patton, what if I start having panic attacks in class? People are gonna think I’m a freak.”

“No, they’re not,” Patton sighs. “Plenty of adults have panic attacks. Especially, I’m sure, adults in college.”

Virgil whimpers.

“And,” Patton continues, “If you get a panic attack in class, you’ll just do what you did in high school. Wait it out if you can’t move, or go get a drink of water if you can. You don’t even have to ask anymore.” Patton tries to smile at him, but Virgil resists his attempt to pull his head away from Patton’s shoulder.

“If you want to, if it’s really bad, you can even walk out and not come back. Just go to your room to calm down, email the professor, take the rest of the day off. This is college, Virgil. We’re adults. People care way less what we do now.”

“Still,” Virgil wails. “I’m going to have to go back to my room with my awful roommate.”

Patton sighs. “Virge, really, you gotta give him a chance. For me?”

Patton can practically feel the frown emanating from Virgil. “I guess. For you.”

There’s another unexpected pulse of guilt. Patton squeezes Virgil, trying to make the feeling go away. “You coming to movie night tonight?”

“Um...I..uh...I might. Will there be food?”

Patton tries to hide his grin. He has a feeling Virgil’s just going to get away from his roommate, but still. “Probably. I’ll ask Remy.”

Virgil pulls away then, hops back onto the railing of the bridge, and stares off into the water as he attempts to (and fails miserably at) scrubbing the eyeliner off his face. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

Patton tries not to feel offended. Virgil often shuts down after an emotional event or recovering from a panic attack. He feels like he should probably be used to it by now, but he’s not. But he respects Virgil’s space.

When he gets back to the room, Remy’s asleep. It looks like such a good idea that he curls up and goes to sleep on his own bed, clothes and all.


	7. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil’s first week of school is a whirlwind of surprising emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for eating disorder in this chapter. Be safe, y'all. I know this upload schedule is a mess, I’m sorry, but honestly I’m quite proud of this chapter and I hope you enjoy Virgil branching out just a little bit :)

Virgil has been avoiding his roommate as much as possible, trying to memorize his movements so he’s there when Roman isn’t. Needless to say, this is almost impossible. Roman is erratic, dramatic, and hardly ever static. And classes haven’t started yet, so he doesn’t have a proper schedule. Virgil starts coming up with increasingly less likely excuses to leave the room as soon as Roman walks in, hanging out surreptitiously in their residence hall until he leaves, which is, fortunately, usually pretty soon after. His earlier predictions prove correct: Roman seems to be out joining far too many clubs, socializing, and going to every single freshman welcome event that the campus arranges.

Virgil, on the other hand, prefers to stay indoors and read. He keeps his book box next to his bed and has been steadily going through them in the five days before classes start.

That’s another thing. He hasn’t unpacked yet, either. He just roots around in his boxes whenever he needs something. He keeps his first aid supplies under the bed covered in a blanket, but that’s the only thing that’s out. He still hasn’t given up on getting a room with Patton, although Patton seems to have done just that. He and Remy might as well be attached at the hip. They both practically sparkle; they’re both loud and out there and all over the place.

Virgil’s taken to going to housing every day to check on his request, but every day he gets the same reply: “We’ll see. In the meantime, please do try get to know your current roommate.”

Everyone wants him to like Roman. All Virgil likes about Roman is that he’s barely in the room. Sure, he was the one who called Roman a jackass at their first meeting, but to be fair, he was kind of being one.

Things surprisingly get much easier for Virgil the morning classes start. He has a minor panic attack in the bathroom the morning of, but he tries to remember what Patton always says--to just keep breathing--and passes a damp cloth over his face and opens the door for his suitemates.

All his classes are fairly early in the morning because he knows that having classes later in the day and feeling like he needs to be somewhere in the morning would have just freaked him out. (He hasn’t figured out yet what to do in the late afternoon, when he’s free, but that’s a problem for later. Heck, maybe he’ll even join a club.)

Roman’s asleep when he leaves, which is nice. Virgil hates getting ready when someone’s watching him. Especially if that someone is Roman.

His first class is held in one of the bigger auditoriums, the kind he’s seen in movies. The size immediately intimidates him and he hates the idea of being called on, so he picks a seat all the way in the back but close to a window. He figures if the professor can’t see him, he won’t be interacted with.

It’s going to be a boring class, he’s sure of it. It’s some required “college success course” thing and as Virgil waits in his corner seat, he realizes that the roughly one hundred other freshman taking the course are probably about the same level of excited as he is.

Within the first ten minutes all of Virgil’s anxieties have vanished and been replaced with sheer, utter boredom. He starts doodling in the margins of his notes, stars and swirls and comets, trying to approximate a galaxy from afar by speckling the page and then partially erasing it. The work is tedious but easy, like most of the work in high school had been for him.

He takes a short break in the gap between college success and biology, impulse texting Patton as he wanders campus trying to find the correct building, and then trying to find the correct floor and the correct hall.

 _Wanna get lunch?_ he texts, and then sends it off. Hopefully it’ll be enough to let Patton know that he’s forgiven him. He never knows how to come right out and say these things.

A few seconds later, as he’s pulling open the door to the mostly empty biology classroom, he gets a text back. He checks it as he sits down wordlessly in the back corner of the significantly smaller classroom.

_Virge, it’s barely past breakfast. I’m still half asleep._

_I meant later, genius. Top floor of the dining hall?_

_Oh. Yeah. Sure._ It sounds a little taken aback, even for a text, and Virgil suspects that Patton is surprised he’d pulled out of his sulk so soon. A normal Virgil sulk could last a whole month, if not longer. But this one had only been a few days.

In all truth, most Virgil sulks only lasted a few days anyway, but he usually had the stubbornness and residual hurt to drag them out enough that he felt his point was made. It was childish, he knew, but he’d never come up with a better way of expressing himself. And it wasn’t like Patton said anything to stop him.

Now, though, in a new place with no friends and no solitary room in an empty house to fly back to, no places to even drive into to hang out at in town, he needed Patton.

And right now he didn’t even care that that was selfish.

Biology was sufficiently more interesting than college success. Virgil took so many notes that his hand cramped. He hated that teachers always told him to use shorthand or only write down the “important” bits; to his mind, everything was important. And you couldn’t trust most teachers to say anything unimportant. And anyway, he got As in every class, so he couldn’t see why they were complaining if he was doing just fine.

The bio professor threw down a set of rules, outlined the curriculum and class schedule in loose, broad sweeps, mentioned a couple field trips that might occur if everything got straightened out, and impressed upon them all that they would only skip a lab if they wanted to fail the class.

These were the kind of situations in which Virgil was almost glad he had anxiety; it was there in the back of his mind constantly pressing him to write everything down, to remember every important point of information. He wasn’t used to doing so much on the first day, even from advanced and honors classes in high school, but he kind of liked that they were diving right into things instead of spending time socializing and playing stupid get to know you games. This was college. It was serious. And it was leaving Virgil in peace to obsess over his notes and make sure everything lined up perfectly.

He gets out of class stressed but happy, notes neat and perfect in his notebook, new papers tucked away safely in a folder. He practically runs to the dining hall, wanting to beat the rush but also wanting to see Patton. They haven’t talked since Virgil’s post panic attack on the bridge and he feels kind of shitty about ignoring Patton’s well meaning texts and occasionally, quiet knocks.

He wonders if Patton has met Roman.

He doesn’t want him to. Patton would inevitably just start talking to him, and then Virgil’s peace and quiet would be ruined forever.

He works his way up to the top floor of the dining hall, grabs his food, and finds a window booth. Patton plunks down next to him a second later, Remy sliding in beside him.

“Oh,” says Virgil, trying not to let his face fall. “You brought Remy.”

Remy gives a little wave and then immediately digs in to her turkey sandwich. “Sorry,”she says. “I’m starving.”

“No worries,” says Virgil, trying to sound amicable. He has no doubt that he fails miserably. Virgil always sounds like he’s trying to get people to go away.

Patton smiles at him almost shyly across the table before picking up his hamburger. Patton always gets this weirdly eager expression on his face whenever Virgil is actually trying to be friendly to someone.

It’s not that Virgil doesn’t like Remy. It’s that...well, he doesn’t really like anybody. His default is set on “dislike” and then a person has to work their way up into his good books for a very long time, say, a few years, and then prove themselves worthy of staying there.

So far the only person who has done this is Patton.

“So,” says Virgil awkwardly, (he never starts conversations), “how are your classes going?”

“Haven’t started yet,” says Patton. “I have an evening class today but I piled most of ‘em onto Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Oh. Huh. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Patton asks, sounding unconcerned.

“I mean...are you gonna be able to handle all that work just piled up on two days?”

“Oh.” Patton shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out. Besides, then I have super free Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and weekends, so I’ll have plenty of time to study and stuff.”

“If you say so,” mumbles Virgil, picking at his chicken salad.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about this one, Patton,” says Remy, swirling her ever present coffee. “You just like poking holes in things, hm?”

“What do you mean?” asks Virgil nervously.

“Looking for problems, finding whatever can go wrong in any given situation? I’d just be excited about the four day weekend.”

“Oh,” says Virgil, and frowns. “Wait, Patton, you said that about me?”

“No!” Patton protest. “I just said you were a bit of a worrier.”

“Hmph,” says Virgil, even though he knows it’s completely true. He turns to Remy. “What else did he tell you about me?”

“Well-” starts Remy, leaning across the table, but Patton fans a hand in front of her face in a very “nope” gesture. “No no no, you and Virgil are not conspiring against me.”

To his surprise, Virgil chuckles a little. “You sure that’s a no, Patton? Could be fun.” He winks at Remy.

“Ooh, yes, let’s form a ‘down with Patton’ club.”

“Guuuys,” Patton whines.

Virgil actually feels a lot better after that, though. He hasn’t changed his not liking people rule, but he’s put Remy on the list of people who possibly have the potential to work up to a level where he MIGHT like them.

Emphasis on the might part, but in Virgil’s eyes it’s still something. He so rarely makes friends. “Rare” meaning exactly one.

The rest of their lunch conversation passes fairly easily. Virgil even manages to ask Remy a couple of non boring questions about her classes and what clubs she’s involved in, and Remy seems perfectly happy to go on for ten minutes in any direction after a question, which takes a lot of pressure off of Virgil. And Patton just kind of smiles over the whole thing, occasionally getting up for more food or leaning over to poke Virgil or offer a bizarre joke.

Eventually Remy has to leave to go to class and Virgil’s even a little bit sorry to see her go. As she walks away to put her dishes by the kitchen, Virgil leans over and says, “Hm. Your roommate’s not bad.”

“She also has very good ears!” Remy yells. “I like you too, emo boy!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Like is a strong word,” he mutters, but either Remy actually can’t hear him this time or she’s pretending not to.

“I’m glad you like her,” says Patton. “We’re going to have so much fun together, aren’t we?”

“I guess,” says Virgil flatly.

“That’s the spirit,” says Patton, smiling over at him, but after a moment his smile slips and he winces.

“Patton?”

“Nothing.”

Virgil leans across the table, pushing his glass out of the way and narrowing his eyes. “Patton.”

“Ate too much,” Patton mumbles, squirming uncomfortably, although Virgil can’t tell if it’s from Virgil’s attention or the overeating. He sighs, resigning himself to an afternoon of worry.

“Patton, you know this whole stress eating thing is like, very far from good.”

“It’s not stress eating! It’s...something else. I don’t know.”

“Well, it seems like stress eating to me,” says Virgil stubbornly.

“It’s not,” Patton counters, and Virgil has to rein himself in from saying something that could be considered argumentative.

“Well, what is it, then?” Virgil asks, exasperated.

“I dunno, Virge. I just don’t want to stop.”

“But why don’t you want to stop? Are you hungry all the time?”

“No…” Patton hugs himself and slumps lower in the booth. “It’s just there, and I just eat it.”

“Okay, but WHY.”

“Virgil, I just told you I don’t know.”

Patton doesn’t sound mad; he just sounds frustrated.

“Has it been getting worse? Like my panic attacks?” Virgil asks sharply.

Patton nods just a tiny bit and Virgil runs a hand through his hair until it sticks straight up, exasperated. “Then maybe it IS a stress thing.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s not,” says Patton.

Virgil bites his lip. “Maybe you should see someone about it.”

Patton lets out a half laugh. “Kiddo, I’ve been telling you that for years,” he says gently. “You think it would be useful for me but not for you? It’s just food.” He leaves it hanging in the air, but Virgil can hear the implied message. And you’re so much more fucked up than that.

He shrugs off the thought. It’s not the kind of thing he could imagine Patton ever saying out loud.

“Still,” he says, letting concern take over his voice as Patton whimpers softly. “That can’t be healthy, Pat.”

“I know,” groans Patton. “But I can’t help it.”

Virgil just looks at him sideways. He knows Patton helps it when he says he can’t help thinking negative things about himself, or cutting himself off from people, but he never knows how to respond when Patton says stuff like that.

Patton checks his watch. “Crap,” he says. “I have to go. Talk later?” There’s a delicate hopefulness in his tone, like he’s not quite sure that Virgil has really forgiven him.

“Yeah, of course, buddy,” says Virgil, feeling vaguely guilty for his few day’s silent treatment.

He doesn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day, which makes him feel weird and empty, like he used to on half days at school. Usually he’d go over to Patton’s and lie on the floor of his bedroom until he felt better, and then they would play video games.

On the good days they would play Dark Souls because Virgil could handle it then, and on the bad days they would play Sonic Heroes or Sonic Adventure Two: Escape From the City, because they made Virgil feel like a kid again, and he thought that maybe if he was a kid again nothing would be able to hurt him. It wasn’t true, of course. But it helped.

There are video games in the common room of Pine, their residence hall, but Virgil doesn’t feel like taking the risk of being caught out in the open in the common room. He shudders at the thought of someone coming up to him and, god forbid, actually asking to play with him. Virgil was never a team player.

The only person he could really play with was Patton.

Virgil shakes his head clear, collects his dishes, and puts them away. He starts to wander back to Pine on his own, feeling somewhat out of place for the first time on the walkway. Usually it feels nice to walk somewhere by himself if he’s actually sure where he’s going, it gives him a confidence he doesn’t usually have.

But the whole stretch of nothingness laid out before him is making him jumpy.

When he gets back to Pine he sits down in the common room for about thirty seconds, toying with the idea of starting his homework there, and then almost immediately abandons it. People are out here. People. Ugh.

Valerie walks past and waves at him, and he raises a hand in response. Okay, maybe they’re not all bad. But. Still.

He retreats down the hallway back to his room and goes to swipe his keycard through the scanner and then hesitates.There’s a soft sound coming from the other side of the door. And Virgil may be clueless, and bad with people, and socially anxious, and in general just a terrible person, but he definitely knows enough to know that when you hear the sound of someone sobbing on the other side of a door, even (especially, says his mind) someone who probably hates you, you leave them alone. And yet.The smallest part of him is either just not entirely sure yet or very cruel. And so he swipes his keycard and prods the door open just a crack with the toe of his sneaker, thanking God for the silent doors. Sure enough, Roman’s flung onto his bed in a much more dramatic position than he was in the first time Virgil saw him, crying his eyes out. A pang of shock and--guilt?--shoots through Virgil upon seeing him lying there, head in his hands, and he almost runs back to the commons, forgetting to close the door. Was this his fault? Weird that that was the first thought to come to mind, but then again, Virgil thought everything was his fault. What if Roman was super sensitive though, and all his insecurities came out as obnoxiousness and dramatic instead of withdrawal and sarcasm like Virgil? Wouldn’t that make Virgil a worse bully than most of the kids who had driven him to self loathing when he was little?

Virgil sits down near a window, pulls his laptop out of his backpack, and settles in for a long and uncomfortable afternoon of self doubt and guilt.


	8. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School's been in for a while now, and everyone is settling into their various niches...while confronting their own various flaws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This isn't up on tumblr yet because I'm doing the log off protest, but I'll post it there as well as soon as I can. Because there are so many points of view in this story I've written a chapter with the perspective of all four, just to kind of catch you up on where everyone's at. There's definitely going to be at least one other chapter like this and possibly a third. The only real warnings I have for this chapter is for ED stuff; otherwise this one's pretty tame. Enjoy.

PATTON

Patton tips the campus delivery guy, grabs the pizza boxes, and zooms back into his and Remy’s room. Remy and snake girl are sitting on the carpet, playing crazy eights instead of studying.

Snake girl muffles a yawn. “If this gets any more boring, Patton, we might have to switch to strip poker.” She winks, and Patton isn’t quite sure whether it’s directed at him or Remy.

“Hey, I’m down,” says Remy casually, folding her hand carefully and standing up to grab a paper towel and a slice of pizza. She passes one down to snake girl, another to Patton, who has sat down.

“Do my glasses count as clothes?” Patton jokes.

“Definitely not,” says snake girl, straight faced, and Patton feels his skin heat a little. Remy rolls her eyes. “Guys, we do have to actually study. Pizza and vocab cards now, strip poker later.”

“If you insist,” Patton sighs, and takes a bite of his slice.

Patton can’t exactly say he enjoys memorizing the extremely long and complicated list of words and definitions that they have for intro to environmental science, but it’s definitely more enjoyable with Remy and snake girl (who STILL won’t tell them her name. Remy has gone so far as to ask that they go to one of her professors and ask for the class roster. Patton had pointed out that they’d have no way of knowing which name was hers, and Remy had suggested that they take a picture to show to her professors. How would we get a picture? Patton asked. Sneak shot, Remy had said, and that was where Patton officially drew the line on stalkerishness.)

He’s about halfway through the first pizza when snake girl throws the vocab cards into the air and proclaims, “That’s it, I absolutely cannot study for another singular moment.” She lays out on the carpet, twines her ankles around each other, and takes another bite of her pizza. “Okay. Who wants to gossip?”

Remy snorts. “This is college, Snakey, I don’t think there’s exactly going to be the same amount of drama as there would be in a place where you can name every person in your class.”

Snake girl raises an eyebrow. “Maybe not. Doesn’t mean there's not still drama.”

Remy and Patton exchange glances.

“Come on,” snake girl prompts. “There has to be something. Remy, are you dating anyone?”

Remy half chokes on her slice of pizza. “Dating someone doesn’t mean drama,” she protests.

“No...but it’s a good starting point.”

Remy shrugs. “Then you’re out of luck, I don’t even have that.”

Snake girl flings a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Patton? How about you?”

“Still very single,” says Patton through a mouthful.

“He does kind of have drama going on, though,” says Remy.

Patton shoots daggers at her- as much as he can, he’s never been good at glaring- but Remy ignores him.

“Oh?” says snake girl, half raising an eyebrow.

Patton shakes his head even though he’s not entirely sure what Remy’s talking about, but she keeps going. “He and his friend Virgil were supposed to request a room together, but he requested housing at random.”

Snake girl sits up, finally interested. “Wow, what did he do?”

“Nothing,” says Patton uncomfortably. “I just....needed some space.” Even that doesn’t feel quite right, and Patton tries to shake off the words by closing his eyes. It doesn’t work. He gets up to get another slice of pizza.

Snake girl prods for a while longer, but all that Patton can come up with is that he wants Virgil to have room to grow.

“He totally needs to tell him, though,” interjects Remy, as a slightly guilty afterthought.

“Why?” asks snake girl. “There’s no need for him to find out. It’s not exactly like it would be hard not to tell him.”

Patton picks up the deck of cards. “Didn’t I hear one of you say something about strip poker?”

Snake girl drops the subject and they begin playing, but it’s not very interesting. None of them are very good at poker and by the end of a few rounds the only result is a pile of shoes, jewelry, and a couple belts. Soon the girls have delved into talk about their classes, about their homes, and then even that devolves to just snake girl’s voice, telling ghost stories. Patton gets up to draw the curtains and drag the box of pizza onto the floor.

He knows he should stop eating, but...it’s there, and he paid for it, and he and Remy don’t have a fridge, and he had vastly overestimated how much the girls would eat. And...to be quite honest, even if the girls had wanted a lot, there would probably be some instinct pushing him to eat ore, to get to it before they do.

He’d already sort of felt sick when the girls started playing poker, but now that snake girl’s nearing the end of her first story he actually thinks he might throw up. His stomach is swollen and the skin is heated and he’s sure if the lights were on he would see that the skin was red. He curls up against the side of Remy’s bed and whimpers, trying not to jostle his stomach.

Snake girl pauses. “Hey, you okay?”

In the silence that follows Patton can hear Remy snoring softly. He realizes he’s taking too long.

“Um.” Patton takes one arm away from his stomach and tries to sit normally, but it hurts too much and he instantly curls in on himself. Snake girl scoots a bit closer and he finds himself internally panicking. He does NOT want her to know about his freaky...gorging thing. Plus she’s stopped at a really good part and her pausing to be concerned over him is sort of ruining the atmosphere.

She lays a hand gently on the curve of his stomach and he yelps. It hurts, at first, and then she’s rubbing in slow, gentle circles and he whimpers again, half in embarrassment, half in relief.

“You do this a lot,” she says sharply. “It’s like you’re trying to eat yourself to death.”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” he whines. “It’s like...I dunno.” he trails off, in too much pain and humiliation to continue.

She sort of glares at him and just says, “I think you do,” and after a few moments Patton mumbles “Maybe.”

She waits.

He sighs, rests his head on his knees, and she curls an arm around his shoulders instead. “I’ve probably spent way too much time thinking about this,” he says, and then expects her to comment, but she doesn’t.

“I...never really had access to a lot of food, growing up. So like. When there’s food you eat, you know? Because you’re not….not sure when you’re going to get to eat again. And it’s like, just. Stuck with me, I guess? Eat or starve? And a stomach ache is better than...missing out on the opportunity to eat.”

“Oh,” she says quietly. And then she reaches her other arm around him until it’s a sort of hug, and Patton mumbles into her shoulder, “Virgil’s wrong. I don’t need to talk to anybody. I just need to stop.”

ROMAN

“Hey, Erin.”

“Hey, Roman.” She gives him a little grin.

This was...not how Roman had been picturing this. He stares down at his cheese danish and wonders if it holds any answers. Truth be told, he thought that anyone coming to see him from high school would result in a teen romcom style run across a parking lot followed by a sweeping hug, but Erin just kind of...walked in.

And besides, it had usually been Izzy that he pictured in those fantasies. And they usually ended in a kiss. He couldn’t imagine kissing Erin; it would be like kissing his cousin.

She’d just waltzed in, ordered a cappuccino, and come and found his table in the back. He’d been staring uselessly at his English notes and daydreaming about the last time he and Izzy had kissed onstage.

It was different onstage, really, from anything else. It wasn’t like kissing when you were alone or even kissing in front of an audience, so to speak. It was one of those moments when you felt yourself melt through the shell of the character you were wearing and shine through, and you could feel that it was the same for the other person. And for a moment you were suspended in time, completely alone, and you weren’t even you anymore, you were just her, and you could feel everything melt away behind the back of your eyes and it was then that you knew what the universe felt like.

“Hey. Earth to Roman?” Erin waves a hand in front of his face.

“Yes. Um. Sorry. Distracted.” Roman clears his throat. “Ah, how’s your tattoo apprenticeship going?”

Erin doesn’t look convinced, but it would probably take a nuclear explosion to stop her when someone mentions tattoos. It’s like asking Roman to monologue about Stephen Sondheim.

“Really good,” she says, and then launches into an anecdote about her teacher getting into an argument with a client who wanted their boyfriend of three months tattooed on their bicep. Not his name-his face.

It’s not that Roman doesn’t find the story fascinating, but his mind seems to be just permanently stuck on Izzy. He takes the opportunity to eat the cheese danish so that he has an excuse not to talk.

Erin’s going on about drawing lessons and the folds in a rose petal when Roman stands up suddenly, brushing crumbs off his lap. “Are you finished?” he asks suddenly.

“Uh- I guess?” says Erin, looking somewhat startled. Not upset, just startled.

He doesn’t miss her look, but he keeps walking, crumpling up his napkin and throwing it in the trash as he passes. He stops at the counter. 

“Excuse, me, may I have a cup?”

The barista raises her eyebrow. “Like for water, or…?”

“Just an empty cup,” says Roman, suppressing a sigh. Erin is eyeing him strangely, but he ignores her and heads outside. She follows.

“Roman?” she asks. “Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine, Iz- Erin.” He feels like burying his face in his hands at the slip, but instead he just runs a hand nervously through his hair.

“Roman,” says Erin, in a far more serious tone than she’d had previously. “Do we need to talk about this? You’re not still…” she lowers his voice. 

“God, Roman, you’re not still thinking about her, are you? You told me you were...completely over her…”

“I’m a terrible liar,” he says smoothly, holding the door open for her. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opens Spotify, and scrolls through his playlists until he finds the one he needs. He hits play, slides his phone into the cup, and sets it down on the bench outside the Starbucks.

“Dance with me?” he says, offering her a hand as Fall Out Boy blares through the tiny speakers.

Erin tilts her head sideways at him and snorts like a disgruntled dog. “Roman, you can’t just keep distracting yourself, you know. That doesn’t work. You have to face this head on and come to terms with it.”

“Says who?” he asks as she slips her hand reluctantly into his. He pulls her into an outside spin and then settles into the basic step, pulling her off the sidewalk and into the empty parking lot.

Izzy would never swing dance for him, so this is easier. Erin’s been his dance partner for years. This is natural, pulling her into each dip and turn, guiding her carefully over the asphalt, even closing his eyes for a second to enjoy the feeling of low stake harmony and complacency.

The song ends too soon.

“Want me to drive you back?” Erin asks. Roman’s about to tell her that he can wait for the bus, and then he remembers that every time he’s left alone for too long he defaults back to Izzy. Izzy, Izzy, nothing but Izzy.

“Sure,” he says tiredly, and follows her back to her truck.

“So, how’s your roommate?” she asks conversationally.

“Terrible,” says Roman enthusiastically. _This_ is a subject he can get behind with no fear of bringing up Izzy. “He’s pretentious, and stuck up, and full of himself, and-”

Erin cuts him off with a giggle. “Pretty sure those mean the same thing, Roman.”

“Well,” says Roman, pouting, “he deserves the emphasis.”

Erin raises an eyebrow at him. “What did he do, to deserve all this hatred?”

“I don’t _hate_ him,” says Roman reluctantly. “I don’t hate anybody, really. You know that. I just very very strongly dislike him.”

Erin laughs again. “Well, what did he do?”

“Called me a jackass,” Roman mumbles under his breath.

“That’s IT?” says Erin incredulously. “That’s your criteria for ‘very very strongly disliking’ someone?”

“It’s not just that!” Roman protests. “It’s...It’s...it’s everything. He just has this aura about him, you know? Like he thinks he’s better than everybody. Like...like he’s too good to speak to me.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “Have you considered that maybe you’ve made yourself too intimidating to speak to?”

Roman gasps, affronted. “Me? Intimidating? My presence is nothing but warm and welcoming, thank you very much.”

“...Sure, Prince Charming,” says Erin. “Look, why don’t you just talk to him? It’s worth a shot. No offense, Roman, but knowing you, you’ve probably terrified the poor kid.”

Roman pouts. “I suppose. I might.” Erin grins and he nearly gets whiplash turning to glare at her. “But only for you! Not for this...emo skater kid.”

“Does he skate?” Erin asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I...I.” Roman sighs. “I was...it was a stereotype.”

“Well, maybe if you stop stereotyping the kid you’ll get along. Maybe ask him if he skates. He might surprise you.”

LOGAN

Logan’s lying flat on the floor of his room, breathing and trying to pick out the individual patterns in the drum solo of “I’m a Boy” by the Who. The door creaks open, and then a second later when Logan hasn’t called out that he’s changing, it opens all the way.

“Dude,”says Joan, readjusting their beanie and tossing a case of mountain dew on his bed, “for someone who isn’t ‘particularly interested’ in music, you sure listen to a lot of it.”

Logan shifts a little, somewhat uncomfortable. “It’s...something to do,” he says after a slight hesitation, feeling that this is a “lame” answer. He couldn’t quite put his finger on _why_ it was lame, but he could pick out that it felt wrong.

“Hey, doesn’t bother me,” says Joan with a shrug. “But hey, maybe you should get involved with a club or something? Do you sing?”

“Do I- no, no I do not sing,” says Logan, slightly mortified at the idea.

“Play an instrument?”

“Uhm. No.”

“Huh.” says Joan, and then sits on their bed to unlace their shoes and crack open the first can of mountain dew. “Want one?”

Logan doesn’t drink soda. “No, thank you.”

They pass a few more moments with nothing but the background of Logan’s playlist, which is blaring Sabotage by the Beastie Boys now.

“Did you...have something you wanted to say?” Logan asks, sensing a distinct lack of...something in the room. All his teachers said that he had no sense of social cues, no idea how to behave, but it wasn’t true. He had been tested for autism inconclusively and had done extensive research on the condition, also inconclusively. Logan wasn’t sure his old teachers had been right, anyway. Not about the autism part; about his lack of knowledge of social cues. Logan knew when something was wrong, when something was off. He could read a room and pronounce whatever he found there- he just didn’t know how to translate whatever he’d read.

It was exceedingly frustrating. He’d taken to studying books on body language.

Joan’s saying something, he realizes, and tries to pay attention.

“...I dunno, I just, I worry about you sometimes? I mean do you hang out with anyone besides me?”

“It’s still early in the year,” says Logan, oddly touched.

“I know. But you’re so...you’re so intense, Lo. Loosen up a little. Live. Y’know?”

“...sure,” says Logan, knowing that he couldn’t “loosen up” if someone paid him to.

“Seriously though, isn’t there anything you do for fun?”

Logan thinks.

There is one thing.

“I guess,” he says uncomfortably. It’s not really something he talks about. People tend to look at him as though he’s just sprouted wings. It’s not a terribly unusual hobby, but somehow people don’t seem to want to put a face and persona like Logan’s to that kind of thing.

“Can you promise me something? Can you promise you’ll try to do that more? You’re just, like, I dunno, you’re always studying.”

“I can certainly try,” Logan tells them. Find a place that’s completely isolated. Maybe there’s soundproof recording booths in the theater building.

“Cool,” says Joan, grinning, and takes another swig of mountain dew.

VIRGIL

Virgil’s scrolling through tumblr, bored to tears. Scroll. Pause. Like. Scroll. Pause. Reblog. Tag. Post. Scroll. UGH. A message pops up in his notifications and he opens it, confused as to who the hell would be messaging him, and then closes it again with a groan. Porn bot.

Scrollllllll.

Stop.

Virgil bashes his head against the desk and then immediately regrets it. That, he muses, is probably one of the worst things about him. He forgets how much things hurt...and yet he’s still self destructive. Gah.

He has about an hour before Roman comes back and and he has to vacate the room, and he doesn’t want to waste it. “Not wasting it” though, seems to mean “scrolling through tumblr until you think you might actually scrape the skin off the pads of your fingers from turning the wheel of the mouse”.

Virgil clicks over to his activity page. It’s not bad, really, but it’s taken a definite dip in the past week or so. It’s because he hasn’t done anything original. Virgil groans into his hands. Being original takes time. And effort. And spoons that Virgil doesn’t have right now.

So he compromises: he pulls up the lyrics to Famous Last Words (not that he needs them, but he likes to check) and tears a sheet of notebook paper out of the folder sitting nearest to him. He copies out the lyrics carefully, sitting in silence aside from the scratching of the felt tipped pen, and when he’s covered the entire page over he folds it into a square and then into a diamond, and then into more intricate designs.

When he’s done, he has a paper crane a little bigger than his hand, covered in words.

He sets it on the windowsill because he hasn’t taken a picture there in this dorm yet, and then he pulls out his phone and takes a burst. It’s really not necessary for a subject that doesn’t move and isn’t particularly complicated, but Virgil’s tumblr is pretty much the only thing he actually cares about maintaining. He chooses a couple of the best pictures, crops one, and posts both to his main blog, tagging it thoroughly. It’s only a few minutes before the notes come flooding in and he feels a bit better. Still, it would be better if he posted another original work.

But original works take time. And energy. And words welling up in his mind in the dead of night, begging to escape the dungeon of his brain. Right now he’s just...not inspired. Not even about bad things.

Virgil lets out a long sigh, closes Tumblr, and clicks over to Netflix. He has a few episodes of Black Mirror to catch up on.


	9. Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan makes an unexpected...ally? Acquaintance? Friend. Is friend a word he can use here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to one of my favorite chapters--the analogical friendship chapter! :D Warnings for smoking.

“Logan! What’s up?”

“Nothing in particular,” Logan replies, somewhat startled. He’s never been able to get used to these casual greetings. He’s used to soft, direct questions, used to things that aren’t open an subjective. He likes precision. It’s probably why he’s so good at math.

“I’ve been looking out for ya, buddy,” says the man leaning against the fence of the paddock. His name is Steve, if Logan is remembering correctly. He’d much rather call him professor, but “Steve” had insisted on casualness. It seemed to be a key point to his personality. Logan wasn’t sure how much he’d liked that.

He’d met Steve once before, at his “formal” assessment, and he hadn’t really seen anything wrong with him, exactly. He hadn’t said much then, just taken a lot of notes and smiled every time Logan met his eyes, occasionally giving him a direction or asking to bring his horse closer. Still, he was sure he would much prefer Magnolia’s instruction. She may have been a bit emotional, but at least she understood Logan’s need for direct questions and instructions and structure in general.

Steve didn’t really seem to care all that much.

“I was wondering if it would be all right if I went for a short ride? I wanted to explore the grounds,” Logan said.

“Go for it!” says Steve, beaming. “Just make sure you sign out the tack and keep to the path. You can have...hm...how about Calypso? She’s a bit restless.”

“Alright. Thank you.” says Logan, and heads off towards the barn.

“Anytime, buddy. Anytime.”

Calypso is a piebald cob. Logan doesn’t ask what breed she is, but she looks a bit like a mixed Chincoteague Pony to him. He’d like to think she is. He always had a special place in his heart for those ponies.

No one else is on the trail at the moment--Logan assumes there are too many classes going on. He notices a lot of people stop to stare, as the trail winds its way all around campus, over the river twice and between the halls. He suspects the people staring are either freshman or transfer students, and he hopes it’ll die down by the time winter sets on. The school is somewhat known for its stables, after all, and Logan would like to ride in peace.

Calypso’s a little feisty but pretty responsive. Her walk is smooth and even, probably smoother than Starburst's. Truly though, he doesn’t care much. He’s just happy to be back on a horse and away from the world of people. _Above_ the world of people.

Invariably, though, as it always does when he’s away from home, his mind turns to his mom and he lets himself dwell a bit (he would never think “wallow” but he knows that’s really what it is) on what it really means that he’s here.

It means she’s going to doctor’s appointments by herself. Sitting by the tv at night by herself, washing the dishes and mowing the lawn and doing the laundry by herself.

He really does worry about those basic tasks a lot. She claims she’s fine, she always claims she’s fine, but he doesn’t believe it. His mom raised him to be a lot of things, but gullible isn’t one of them.

He’s tempted to turn around right there and take Calypso back, and sit down for a minute just to call Magnolia and ask her to walk down and check on his mom. He knows she’ll be doing it anyway every couple of days, but the sheer excitement and newness of being at college is acting like a catalyst on his guilt.

But he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t go back.

What he does is take a nice long ride with Calypso, gets a feel for her, even stretches beyond a trot to a canter for a few brief seconds. That’s when Logan remembers what it’s like to fly.

It’s the only time when all logic leaves his head.

Finally, when they’ve both had a thorough workout, he turns around and heads back.

Then he goes back to his dorm and lies down for a nap.

His mom is never far from the forefront of his mind, but she does stay noticeably in his subconscious for a few days while classes start getting more intense. Logan is thrilled when Biology has its first lab. It takes him a few minutes to find the new classroom (he wishes for a moment that they could have all their Bio classes in here, it’s gorgeous, but he knows that that’s impractical), but once he’s found it he immediately settles in.  
He’s early, as usual, and as he sets his stuff down he takes a few moments to look around the room to make sure he recognizes people and is, in fact, in the right place. Red headed girl with french braids, check. Guy that always has earbuds in, check. Person who always wears ridiculously soft looking pastel sweaters, check.

Moody guy who always sits in the back and takes almost more notes than Logan, check.

He takes his time setting up his stuff, arranging his laptop, pencils, and notebook on the desk. By the time his professor walks in, he’s scrolling through his phone, reading articles from national geographic.

As always, Professor Light lays down the ground rules almost before she’s walked in. Be polite, be respectful, be hardworking or leave the class. Logan listens attentively, although he’s sure he could probably recite the speech in his sleep. Professor Light was quite...insistent. Not that Logan minded. He thrived with a set of clear expectations.

But it could get a bit repetitive.

Professor Light’s usual speech ended as she started in with the overview of the specific class, and Logan sat up a little straighter.

“Now, today is pretty much a test lab, so there is no need to freak out or panic about doing something unnecessarily complicated. We’re simply going to be preparing slides and observing pond water, or, to be more precise, absorbing the organisms we find in the pond water. You will be expected to count (as much as possible) and record each species you find, and write down your observations.”

She levels her “intense professor” gaze across the room. “This should be old hat for all of you so I expect perfect work. Instructions are in the packet,” she says, and picks up a stack of paper to begin passing around the room, “although again this lab will be very simple. You will be pairing off to work in groups of two.”

Logan wrinkles his nose. Of course they would have to work in groups. Logan hates group work, but he can appreciate that it’s necessary at times.

“This does NOT mean,” Professor Light continues, “that you can slack off and put all of the work on your partner. I will be observing and trust me, I can tell when someone is not pulling their weight. You will be marked down for not contributing.”

She allows silence to settle for a moment as she passes out the last of the packets, and then raises her hands in a “go on” gesture. “Alright, go ahead and pair off, you have the rest of the class to work on this.”

There’s an immediate scuffle as the few people with friends in the class race to find people they know. The rest of the class moves more slowly, looking around but avoiding eye contact.

The emo kid in the corner of the room doesn’t move at all.

Logan stands up, pushes his chair in, and makes a beeline to the back of the room where the kid is sitting.

“Hello.”

The guy startles and takes out an earbud. “Um, hi,” he says, sounding wary. “Did you...want something?”

“I was wondering if you would like to be my lab partner.” Logan frowns a little bit. Perhaps he’d misinterpreted the note taking, maybe he was just doodling. “Were you listening at all?” he asks.

“Course I was listening,” the guy mumbles. “I just didn’t want to...face the reality of having to socialize with someone.”

Logan tilts his head to the side. “I don’t think socialization is necessary to complete the project.”

Virgil looks up at him and finally takes out the other earbud. “Well, I know that,” he says. “But the rest of this classroom--and most of the world for that matter--doesn’t seem to think that.” He sweeps an arm out at the people milling around them making awkward small talk and continuing to avoid small talk.

“I don’t see why that has to be us,” says Logan, still not understanding.

“Point taken,” says the kid, and stands up.

“I would like to know your name, however.”

The kid sighs. “It’s...Virgil. You can call me Virge. I guess.”

“Good to meet you Virgil, I am Logan.”

“Yeah...cool.” says Virgil, sweeping the packet off his desk into his hand and walking over to the table covered in microscopes. Logan follows.

Virgil’s pleasant enough to work with. Logan had initially concluded that he pays a more than average amount of attention in class, given the number of notes he always seemed to take. And after working with Virgil for only a few minutes it becomes clear that his mind processes things fairly fast, he has a precise eye, and truly does seem to care about putting effort into his work. 

He doesn’t say much, but Logan’s never been one for small talk. It’s enough for him to say “could you pass me that slide?” or “I need the eyedropper” or “could you write this down?” and Virgil seems happy enough to comply. Or not happy, exactly, but….no more gloomy than he usually is. 

They make a good team, Logan thinks. He’s never seen the need for superfluous talk or honestly for making friends in general, and Virgil seems content to tuck himself inside his hoodie and keep himself well isolated from most of the world.

They get perfect marks on that first lab and a little smiley face next to each of their scores, a rarity with Professor Light if Logan is interpreting her student rating page correctly. So the following week when Logan walks across the room to Virgil’s desk, he takes his earbud out preemptively.

“Don’t you have any...friends or anything?” Virgil asks in a half bored tone.

“No,” says Logan promptly, unoffended. “But neither do you, it would appear.”

Virgil lifts an eyebrow. “Point taken, buddy.”

He gets up and walks over to Logan’s desk, and that’s how they become permanent lab partners.

Despite Virgil’s insistence that he has no friends, Logan notices that he usually gets about two to three text notifications each class, all of which he glances at and then ignores for the rest of the period. Logan’s quite sure that even if he doesn’t have “friends”, then he must at least have one person who cares about him, to some extent. At least one person that Virgil seems to tolerate socializing with.

Logan’s not sure why, but he finds himself attempting to talk to Virgil. He still hates small talk but there’s something intriguing about the kid.

“So, Virgil, where are you from?” he tries one day during a dissection lab.

“Nowhere you would’ve heard of. I thought we weren’t doing the whole friends thing?”

“I’m not,” Logan says indignantly. “I just thought I might...try to attempt conversation. Unless of course it bothers you. Then I’ll stop immediately.”

Virgil lets out a long sigh. “It….it doesn’t bother me, Logan.”

“Oh,” says Logan, somewhat surprised. “Oh, well...that’s alright then.”

“My town’s not a very interesting place to start, though,” Virgil continues, surprising Logan with his initiative. “Then again, I’m not sure anything about me is interesting.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” Logan says mildly, reaching for a scalpel. “I’ll try again. What’s your major?”

“Don’t have one yet,” Virgil sighs, sticking his nose into his hoodie to cover the smell.

“See? I told you,” he says, voice muffled. “Uninteresting.”

“I’m not entirely convinced,” says Logan. “You must have hobbies, or something.”

Virgil uses the back of his forearm to sweep the bangs out of his eyes, looking oddly embarrassed. “I, uh. I make origami.”

“Oh. Fascinating,” says Logan. This, for some reason, makes Virgil laugh.

“Dude, have you ever seen Star Trek? Is Spock, like, your childhood hero or something?”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “I love Star Trek. It’s one of the few pieces of pop culture that I found myself drawn to. However, I have to say I prefer Data to Spock.”

Virgil just shakes his head and grins. “I may not be very interesting, but you’re a real piece of work.”

“If you say so,” says Logan, amused.

They’ve gotten to the point where, if they see each other around campus, Virgil will give a tiny nod and Logan will make eye contact while adjusting his glasses. Logan wouldn’t exactly call it a friendship, but it’s pleasant. Familiar. Virgil doesn’t care if he dives right into quantum theory, barely pausing to say hello, which is nice. Nice to have someone to ramble to. Logan hadn’t realized how much of his musings were just kind of locked up in his head, or how nice it was to get them out in the open for other people to hear. Mostly Virgil just made little “mm” and “uhuh” noises but sometimes, quite out of the blue, he’d offer a new angle on a theory Logan had come up with or pose a question that Logan hadn’t thought of before.

If this is socialization, Logan decides, maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

Then he gets a call from his mother, and his ideas on socialization reverse pretty quickly. He’s sitting in his room, studying quietly, when his phone buzzes. His roommate, Joan, is asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake them, so he walks out in the hall to talk.

“Mom?” he says immediately, greeting forgotten. “How are you? Is- is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” says her tired voice on the other end. “Please don’t worry about me, Logan. I just wanted to call to check up on you, it’s been nearly two weeks since you last called.”

“Oh,” says Logan, relief flooding his chest and releasing the tightness in it. “Yes. Sorry. It’s been a busy week.”

“I’m sure, dear. But I did want to check up on you. Have you made any friends yet?” This is a constant concern for her, as it’s the only thing Logan has ever done poorly at. He considers mentioning Virgil, and decides it’ll probably help put his mom’s mind at ease, even if they aren’t exactly friends.

“I’m fine, mom. Don’t worry about me. And I did meet someone--uh, Virgil. He’s.” Logan searches for a word to describe Virgil. “He’s pretty cool. I think.”

His mom laughs a little on the other side, and he feels a little bit of the tightness return to his chest. She always sounds tired; so, so so tired. Like it’s seeped into her bones and twined its way through her brain.

“That’s good, honey, I’m proud,”

“You’re always proud, mom,” says Logan, not to undermine it, but to express his puzzlement at his mom’s repetition.

“I have a lot to be proud of,” she says warmly. “Listen, Logan, have you managed to run into your cousin yet?”

“Uhh…” for once Logan can’t think of anything to say. He does vaguely remember promising that he would try to meet up with and possibly have lunch with his cousin, who just so happened to be attending Riverpoint, at some point. But this had been made fairly awkward by the fact that Logan had no way of knowing if his cousin’s family had had him make a similar promise, and by the fact that he and his cousin were perhaps the perfect example of apples and oranges.

“Uhm.” He tries again, but he can’t think.

His mom sighs a tiny sigh into the phone. “Honey, I know you two would get along if you just….sat down and tried. Who knows! Maybe you have similar interests.”

Logan highly doubts this. He and his cousin had never gotten along; not since they met at the family reunion when they were both five, and Logan had ended up with a bloody nose and a bruised ego when his cousin had proclaimed that reading books was “lame”.

“Look, I asked your aunt for his number this morning, and I have it right here. I’ll read it out to you right now. Maybe you can meet up for dinner!”

Even to him her enthusiasm sounds feigned. But he agrees to take the number anyway, scribbling it down on his hand as she reads it out.  
Then she has to leave for a doctor’s appointment, and Logan is left feeling weirdly empty when she hangs up. He texts his cousin: _Our mothers seem to think that we have to ‘hang out’; I suggest we get it over with. Dinner?_ and then slips back into his room to grab a couple of things from his backpack. Then he walks a little ways across campus to the gazebo, and makes sure he’s alone before he lights up.

He can feel all his muscles go loose as he takes the first drag, and the rush of relief he gets is about a thousand times greater than what he felt when he picked up the phone and his mother told him she was alright.

He hasn’t smoked in a solid few weeks and he’s almost forgotten how good it feels. The only thing he doesn’t like about smoking is that it seems to take up all of his mind when he does it, as if the smoke is filling his head. He taps cinders off the end and stares off at the river. Sometimes, in his darker moments, Logan suspects this is the closest he’ll ever come to pure peace. At least until his mom gets better.

His brooding is interrupted by a ding from his phone.

_I suppose that wouldn’t be too unbearable. Do you want to meet me outside my room?_

Logan texts back _Alright, which is yours?_

_122 Pine. I’ll be ready in a few._

Logan stubs his cigarette out in one of the ashtrays at the side of the gazebo with some regret (he’s not nearly finished) and begins walking. Pine is fairly close by, and it only takes him a few minutes to get there. He pulls a mint out of his pocket and chews it as thoroughly as he can manage and hopes he hasn’t been smoking long enough for it to stick to his clothes. He hates it when the smell of nicotine sticks to other people, and he doesn’t see why he should be any different.

122 is fairly easy to find; it’s the first hallway he walks down. He knocks on the door and a familiar voice says “Coming!” and a few seconds later the door swings open.

Logan startles. “Virgil?”

“Logan? What are you doing here?” Virgil stutters, possibly more startled than Logan. Then, a voice from further inside, “Is that my COUSIN? Virgil, are you talking to my cousin? You actually opened the door? You KNOW my cousin?”

Virgil rolls his eyes so hard Logan thinks they might fall out of his head. “I was expecting Patton.” He blinks. “Wait, Logan, Roman is your…?”

“My cousin, yes. Regrettably.”

“I heard that,” yells Roman from the bathroom, where he is most likely obsessing over his hair, Logan theorizes. A minute later he comes to the door to find Logan and Virgil staring awkwardly at each other and trying to process the whole situation.

That’s when another boy comes practically skipping down the hall, stopping in front of Virgil and Roman’s door. “Hiya, Virgil! Are we getting dinner or what? Oh, who is this?”

“This is-” Virgil starts.

“My cousin,” says Roman, pushing forward. “Would you and Virgil like to join us for dinner?”

Virgil and Logan exchange looks.

“Oh, sure, that sounds fun!” says Patton brightly. “Let’s go.”


	10. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton are finally together. Things can only get better from here, right? Riiiiight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang's all here!! Which means the story can REALLY start. You guys may have noticed that I've started updating more, and that's because I originally intended to release chapter so that the fictional timeline actually lines up with real time...which means I should've had my Christmas chapter up by now, oops. Unfortunately I've had a whole lot of irl shit happen and for various reasons I've been unable, unwilling, or just plain unmotivated to keep updating. It's been a rough semester. A rough year, honestly. But I've discovered that working on this--revising it, adding more to it, working on the playlist--really helps me. So I'm trying to catch up, and I promise I'll do my best not to fall behind again. Every comment, every kudos, every hit...those give me life and I love and appreciate you guys so much. Thank you.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: eating disorder, and a brief mention of self harm.
> 
> Here's the link to the playlist.
> 
> http://open.spotify.com/user/myni4546/playlist/0PFDOk0xR7se20dYEPIWv5 
> 
> If anyone wants to know which song is for which character/relationship, I'm putting that on my youtube sideblog on tumblr (@octoberdear). Link is here.
> 
> https://octoberdear.tumblr.com/post/181444913923/dark-side-year-one-playlist-a-guide

They end up going to one of the actual restaurants on campus instead of the dining hall, a sushi place across the river. Virgil is deeply uncomfortable. He’d much rather be having a quiet evening out with Patton; this is the first time in a while that Remy’s gone out with friends instead of sticking with them. And while Virgil can definitely say he’s gotten used to her, maybe even likes having her around, he had been very ready for some alone time with Patton. Socializing is exhausting.

The walk over in and of itself is super awkward. Patton is excitable and friendly, as always, and seems delighted that Virgil has made a “new friend” when he finds out that Logan is Virgil’s lab partner, and doubly delighted when he finds out that this new friend is Virgil’s roommate’s cousin.

“We’re not friends,” Virgil keeps saying. “We’re...acquaintances. And lab partners,” he adds, in case Logan is offended. But Logan doesn’t seem to be easily offended by anything, and Patton is circling around and through the three other boys and striking up conversations at random, prodding the others to join in, and so Virgil just draws his hood over his head and sinks back into it.

“This is so cool! Such a cool coincidence!” Patton squeals. “I feel like we were pulled together by fate. Do you guys feel that way? Ohh, do you think we’re going to be best friends?”

Virgil cringes further into his hoodie.

“I...can’t say I believe in the concept of fate,” says Logan. “And ironically Virgil and I seem to have bonded over the fact that we are both fairly bad at making friends. But,” he says, appearing to have reflected further, “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. As long as no one forces me to be friends with Roman.”

“Ditto,” Roman agrees grumpily. Determined as he is to remove himself from the situation, Virgil can’t help but be a bit curious, and a little amused, at how badly Roman and Logan seem to get along, seeing as they are indeed cousins.

Virgil doesn’t have cousins, but he’s met some of Patton’s and they all seem to be very close.

“What do you think, Virge?” Patton asks, breaking Virgil out of his reverie.

“I..think I’m getting pretty hungry,” says Virgil evasively, and Patton spends the rest of the walk pestering Roman and Logan.

Surprisingly Roman seems to somewhat take to Patton. Well, Virgil supposes it isn’t all surprising, but he’s used to Roman being stuck up and surly with him. He knows about the existence of Roman’s myriad of friends, but he’s never really seen him interact with a person positively for more than a couple minutes.

He hasn’t really seen him much at all, to be quite honest. He’d doubled his efforts to stay away from the room while Roman was around after the crying incident, and he’d almost stopped speaking to him altogether, afraid that he’d say the wrong thing but not willing to say the right thing, either.

Truth be told it was exhausting, and Virgil was still running up to housing to ask them if they could change his room to Patton’s whenever he had a chance. He was sure the staff was sick of him by now, but he didn’t care if it meant getting a room with Patton.

Finding the time to cut is exhausting as well. Virgil supposes that’s a good thing, but he can feel himself starting to unravel, to slowly come apart at the seams every time he goes too long without hurting himself. He _needs_ it. Patton hasn’t noticed yet, he’s pretty sure, otherwise he would never leave him alone. 

They finally arrive at the restaurant, and Patton picks a little corner booth near a window. Even from here they can see the river; sometimes Virgil feels that it’s omnipresent. Much to his chagrin, Roman slides in after him, and then Patton and Logan take the other side, in that order.

He spends ages deliberating over the menu. Virgil hates places with lots of items. He can never decide what he wants and he usually ends up asking Patton to order for him, which he always feels slightly ridiculous about. He can’t imagine doing that now, though, with Logan and Roman here. He’d probably look a lot more than slightly ridiculous.

By the time the waiter comes around he’s panicking slightly, but Patton leans across the booth and murmurs softly, “the yellow tuna sashimi looks pretty good, you might like that.”

Virgil nods, relieved, and orders that as the waitress gets around to him. Much to his surprise conversation picks up again almost immediately, mostly facilitated by Patton. He notices that Logan and Roman are mostly avoiding looking each other, but they’re still asking each other questions. Out of some feeling of obligation, he’s sure.

“Are you still going out with that girl?” Logan asks. “What was her name- uh- Isabella?”

“Ah. No,” says Roman, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Izzy and I...broke up.”

“Oh,” says Logan, looking surprised. “I’m. Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” says Roman, laughing so hollowly that Virgil’s sure not even Logan will buy it. Virgil stares at his napkin very hard, wondering if he can set it on fire with his eyes. That would at least be distracting enough to get the others to stop talking. He just wants peace, and quiet, and maybe some sushi, and then to go to bed.

Instead he suffers through several more minutes of awkward conversation before their food arrives. Fortunately, most of them know better than to talk with their mouths open.

Unfortunately, Roman is not one of those people.

“It just- it just wasn’t working,” he says across the table to Patton, a bit of avocado smeared on his lip. God, thinks Virgil, is he still talking about that girl?

Patton nods at him and makes sort of an encouraging gesture.

“I mean,” Roman continues, “we weren’t going to the same schools, we just...you know...we just kind of ended up together because we were each other’s opposites. I mean. We were acting opposite each other. That could happen to anyone, right? You just kind of go together because society-” he waves a chopstick dramatically- “has fooled you into thinking that you must be in a relationship to be happy, that naturally any reasonably attractive (or extremely attractive) guy and girl will end up together, it-” he pauses, and then suddenly stuffs a California roll in his mouth, swallowing hard.

Logan is nodding at him now too, seemingly oblivious to the somewhat emotional cutoff. “Compulsive heteronormativity is an extremely prevalent part of today’s culture, especially in high school.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone you like even more,” says Patton earnestly, swirling his sushi in a pool of soy sauce. He then shoots a meaningful glance at Virgil, who sinks backward into his seat and slumps downward. No way is he going to say something encouraging and cheesy to his dumb roommate about his dumb ex girlfriend.

“Who says I ever even liked her?” says Roman with bravado, then seems to want to backpedal. “I mean, of course I liked her. But. Perhaps I didn’t like her as much as I thought I did.”

He shoves another California roll in his mouth, and Virgil is left feeling distinctly uncomfortable. For the first time since the subject’s come up, it’s occurred to him that maybe that day he walked in on Roman crying, it wasn’t actually his fault.

Maybe he was just wallowing in the misery of a breakup.

Maybe that’s why he’s so insufferable.

Virgil pushes the thought away: his hurt feelings really want to reject the idea of giving Roman a second chance. Plus, if Roman was crying over his girlfriend, then it means that Virgil wasn’t really at fault after all, and he can continue to be his usual miserable self.

Oddly, the thought doesn’t make him as happy as it normally would.

“You’ve been very quiet, Virgil,” says Logan curiously. Virgil starts guiltily and picks up his chopsticks and begins poking his tuna with them. 

“Something on your mind?” Logan continues.

“Um...not really,” says Virgil, trying to make his voice go as quiet as possible without it being a whisper. He’s forgotten that Logan’s not used to seeing him how he usually is: quiet and surly. He’ll talk to Logan, sure, because Logan is interesting and doesn’t expect him to answer questions like “how are you?” (not okay) or “are your parents coming for family weekend?” (definitely not) or “where’d you get that shirt?” (hot topic). Instead, Logan asks questions like “What is your opinion on string theory?” or “Do you think people come up with quantum theories because they feel good about presenting an opinion that can neither be proved or disproved and is therefore somewhat immortal in the scientific community?” or “I’m fairly certain that there are several species of Cretaceous period aquatic wildlife that never died out, what do you think?”

Those questions are easy. Ironically.

This one, however, is veering dangerously close to concern. Virgil doesn’t like it when people are concerned for him, not even Patton.

“I’m just...hungry,” he tries, and adds, “I didn’t have lunch.” to make it more believable. He’s not sure if he’s had lunch or not.

Logan shrugs and returns to his own sushi. Virgil pokes at the tuna again, aware that he’s going to have to attempt to eat it now. Roman glances across at him sharply and he freezes, ready for an insult, but Roman merely says, “Virgil, you're killing me, you’re holding that all wrong,” and waves his own hand to demonstrate.

“Wh-what?” says Virgil, thoroughly bewildered that Roman would take any notice, or even care.

“Here,” he says in a tone that Virgil is sure is part sarcastic, part scornful--and then he reaches across and takes Virgil’s hand.

Virgil goes absolutely still.

“Hold your fingers like this--no, a little further down--that’s it, and use your index finger to control--there.” He lets go of Virgil’s hand, and Virgil barely halts the whooshing sigh of relief that had been about to leave him. "And pick it up from the other direction, so you're not cutting through the fat between the layers," Roman adds, almost as an afterthought.

Much as he hates to admit it, it is now much easier to pick up his sashimi, and he can get a good enough grip on it now that it doesn’t fall as soon as he brings it to his mouth. Roman goes back to lamenting about his ex as though nothing has happened.

The rest of dinner passes mostly uneventfully, except that Virgil notices Patton taking the sushi that no one wants when they’re all finished. 

Everyone is still talking so it’s not like he’s holding them back, but everyone else has stopped eating. Virgil doesn’t say anything, but he does try to catch Patton’s eye. Patton either isn’t paying attention or is intentionally avoiding his eyes.

Logan somehow brings the conversation around to astronomy, which makes Virgil perk up a bit. He knows it’s one of Patton’s favorite topics, and he’s sort of absorbed a love for the stars from him.

“What’s your favorite constellation?” Patton asks through a mouthful of salmon.

“I...don’t know that I have a favorite,” says Logan. Virgil suspects that he’s somewhat perplexed at the concept of favorite. “Draco is fairly intricate and yet easy to spot, though. I suppose that could be a favorite.”

“Mine is Orion,” says Roman, looking half relieved that someone has turned him off the subject of his girlfriend and also somewhat bewildered.

“Mine’s Ursa Minor,” says Patton, mouth still full. “Virgil?”

Virgil startles again. He’s really not used to being addressed in a group this big. He supposes four isn’t that much but for a long time any more people than Patton was completely overwhelming.

“Uh...I guess I like Cygnus,” he mumbles.

“Fascinating,” murmurs Logan.

“What?” Virgil asks warily.

“I’ve never quite understood Cygnus. For all intents and purposes, it simply forms a cross. It’s incredible that it came to be regarded as a swan and that people still see it that way today.”

Virgil glances down at the table, folds his napkin. “I guess.”

Logan and Patton fall to talking about the observatory. Logan hasn’t had a chance to go up yet, and Patton offers to take him. Roman observes the scene in slightly sulky silence. For once Virgil feels as though the sulkiness is probably not directed at them.

They pay the bill and trail out of the restaurant in a loose group, Patton falling back to walk with Virgil. Virgil feels his heart warm and settle a little as Patton falls into step beside him. He’s missed him. It’s simply not the same, having to share Patton with a group.

“Doing okay, kiddo?” Patton asks softly. Virgil listens for a second to Roman and Logan’s conversation before replying. They seem to be awkwardly discussing their last family reunion. When he’s sure they’re not paying attention to him, he murmurs, “I’m okay. Been better.” He pulls his hand discreetly away from his arm. They’re a bit torn up today but so far he’s done a good job of not scratching. And Patton still doesn’t need to know.

“Good,” says Patton, eyes brightening. “I’m real glad Logan and Roman came out with us. It’s nice to see you in a group setting.”

Virgil shrugs, trying to appear indifferent. He doesn’t want Patton to see what an ordeal it truly is for him. Then he notices that Patton has an arm wrapped loosely around his stomach.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned. Patton tries to shrug but ends up wincing instead.

“I’ll be fine,” he says with a half smile. Virgil glares at him. Patton stares at the ground, then mumbles, “but my stomach really hurts right now.”

Virgil grunts in frustration. “Patton, you’re literally hurting yourself. It’s no different from me.”

“It is-!”

“It’s not. Are you ever going to talk to anyone?”

Patton whimpers and tightens his arms around his midsection. “Maybe.”

“Please?”

“Mmph. Okay.”

“Thank you,” Virgil breathes, more relieved than he wants to let on. Then, after the silence goes on a beat too long, he adds, “I just want you to be safe, Pat.”

“I just don’t want you to be like me,” he doesn’t say.

That evening, Virgil doesn’t sneak out to the commons to hide in a corner until Roman goes to sleep, which is what he usually does. Instead he slips on his noise canceling headphones and lies down on his bed, listening to MCR. Roman is sitting at his desk reading. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t say anything.

Virgil switches to a horror podcast, No Sleep, after the album finishes and he’s done brooding over Patton. The sun’s set long ago and Roman’s gone to bed by the time the first story ends. He listens to two episodes of the podcast, barely enjoying the edge of fear that makes his fingers clutch at the sheets and his eyes go wide. Then, when he’s thoroughly exhausted, he takes off his headphones and places them and his phone on the bedside table.

There’s a noise coming from somewhere in the room.

Virgil freezes, still somewhat spooked from the podcast. He stares into the dark, hardly able to see anything, eyes stretched huge until they adjust. The noise...it’s hard to identify, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say that it was being covered. By a blanket or a wall, or something. It sounds oddly familiar. He knows he’s heard this sound before.

Then it hits him. Crying. He’s hearing someone muffle their sobs with a pillow. Well...not just someone.

Virgil rolls over to look at Roman.

It’s not immediately apparent that he’s crying; it’s dark and Virgil’s vision is still blurry. But as he focuses he can see the outline of his lanky roommate lying face down across his bed, clutching the pillow and shaking. Virgil feels his heart crawl up into his throat. His anxiety is through the roof, but he can’t decide which is worse: lying here in the dark listening to Roman cry, trying to sneak out to the common room or the kitchen for some late night coffee and alerting Roman to his presence, or...saying something.

Saying something?

What would he say?

What do you say to a person who probably hurts you when you catch them in tears in the dead of night in your shared room?

Virgil isn’t sure, but there’s a little voice in the back of his head telling him that Patton wouldn’t run away from this. Patton would rather die than leave a person in need, even a person he deeply disliked. Not that Patton ever disliked people.

So Virgil takes a deep breath.

And another.

And another until he tells himself to stop being a wuss and just say something, count of three; one, two--

“Roman?”

The crying continues. Roman doesn’t even move. Virgil’s not sure he heard him at all. His voice pretty much came out as a squeak. He clears his throat and tries again, louder.

“Roman?”

There’s a hitch of breath and then the awful sort of choking sound that happens when someone is trying really hard to hold back tears and failing badly.

“Are...are you okay?”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid--clearly he’s not okay or he wouldn’t be crying into his pillow. Virgil takes another shaky breath. “I-I mean, is there anything I can do?”

There’s almost near silence for a second, and then Roman sits up so fast that it startles Virgil, who yelps and shoots straight up as well. The sit there in the dark, staring at each other, until Roman sniffles and mumbles, “sorry,” and Virgil awkwardly says “it’s...okay,” half towards the apology, half because he’s pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to say to crying people.

“Ugh. Sorry,” says Roman again, louder this time, and now Virgil’s sure he’s looking directly at him. He pulls off the covers because it suddenly feels too hot in the room. They’ve started turning the heat on already but in Virgil’s opinion it’s not nearly cold enough for that.

“It’s just,” starts Roman, and shudders. “It’s. God, do you know how it feels to walk around as half of a person?”

Virgil stays silent. He has a feeling Roman has more to say. And he’s correct.

“Like, not even that part of you is missing, but that you’ve been literally ripped in half? Your heart just--rent in two? Can you imagine how painful that would actually be? I keep trying to come up with metaphors to describe it more accurately, but it’s like my creativity’s died.”

Roman looks down at the bedsheets, clutches them in both fists. Virgil’s eyes have adjusted enough now that he can actually see the tears streaming silently down his face, but Roman’s recovered enough to form words without stumbling.

“Not even that you’ve been ripped in half, no,” says Roman, and Virgil feels that he’s on a roll now. “No. Like half of you decided that it didn’t want to be that half of you anymore-that it didn’t even want to be a half--and it just straight up left.”

He gestures madly with one hand and Virgil tries to follow. He’s thoroughly bewildered and slightly frightened, but he tries to call on his empathy, tries to call on years of hanging out with Patton.

“I’m...sorry. That sounds. Uh. That sounds really rough.”

Virgil expects Roman to yell at him for using as mundane and small a word as “rough”, but instead he just sniffles.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “It is.”

Then he completely breaks down again.

Virgil doesn’t think he would’ve done it if the covers weren’t thrown back, but seeing as his legs are exposed to the open air, it’s simple enough (even if his heart is pounding in his chest) to swing them over the edge of the bed, walk over to Roman’s bed, and sit down. Then (and he really thinks his heart might burst out of his chest now) all that’s left to do is reach out and settle a hand on the shoulder of his loathsome roommate.  
Roman’s shaking. Hard. It’s deeply unsettling, but Virgil keeps thinking what would Patton do what would Patton do, and that guides him to start rubbing slow, smooth circles into Roman’s back. He’s trying to imagine what a breakup must feel like. He’s never even kissed anyone, let alone been in a relationship as long as he assumes Roman’s was, done all of the things he assumes Roman’s done. Heck, that Patton’s done.

Roman’s metaphors are not making very much sense in his head, though, and so he just tells himself that it must feel very, very, bad, and focuses on rubbing Roman’s back.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says, because it feels like the right thing to do and everything is so surreal and he’s not sure what else to say, and Patton always says it to him when he’s crying. Unfortunately that just seems to make Roman cry louder. And that would be the moment that Virgil absolutely panicked, except that it’s also the moment that Romand turns in toward him, sinks down, and rests his head on Virgil’s shoulder.  
So instead it’s the moment that he completely freezes, utterly terrified but somehow reassured that he must be doing something right. He’s not sure how long they stay there or how long it is before the thin t shirt he’s wearing as pajamas is soaked through in the shoulder, or how long it takes before Roman’s sobs fade to quiet sniffles, and then to snores.

He does know that he’s extremely startled the next morning when he wakes up with Roman tangled up in his arms, clutching at his shoulder. So startled, in fact, that he bolts upright yelping.

“Wh-” Roman rolls over, feeling around for a second as though clutching for a blanket, and then his eyes open and meets Virgil’s and  
understanding comes flooding back to him. “Oh. Oh GOD.”

Before Virgil can even say anything, Roman blurts, “Not a WORD, do you understand? Not a single word.”

Virgil nods mutely before scrambling off the bed, grabbing the first pair of clean clothes he finds on the floor, and running off to change in the bathroom.

When he comes back out, Roman’s gone.


	11. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman does some thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings in this chapter--have fun ^.^

Erin’s been texting him nearly constantly, and he’s barely responded. He does feel bad about that. What he does not feel bad about is the approximately four dozen texts he’s sent to Izzy since the start of the semester, all begging her to take him back. No, he doesn’t feel bad about those. He feels absolutely, ready-to-die horrible about them. It’s a wonder she hasn’t blocked his number yet, he’s sure.

 _You just have to get back out there,_ Erin texts. _Try again. It’s like a bad audition. It feels really awful at first, but you just have to look the director square in the eye and ask for a second chance. Start the song again. Pray you’ll remember the lyrics. Like sure, maybe it’ll still stink, but there’ll be other plays. Tech crew. Something._

 _I can’t believe you’re comparing our relationship to a production_ Roman texts back sulkily. 

_Everything in your life is a production_ Erin replies (a bit testily, Roman thinks. Perhaps he’s running out of breakup grace period.) _How’s school?_

 _School’s fine_ he texts back. In reality, school is NOT fine. He feels stupid to admit it, but college courses are a lot harder than he thought they’d be. Not just hard, but more. There’s the added difficulty plus the bulk of the work. He’s unused to just the sheer volume of homework, the amount of notes he’s supposed to take, the level of organization required to remember what needs to be turned in when and where. And that isn’t even taking in to consideration doing things well.

And he’s sure his emotional state isn’t helping.

Maybe he should get a tutor.

He pushes the thought away. Tutors are for dumb kids. He is neither dumb nor a kid.

Still, he can’t help the feeling of dread that sinks into the pit of his stomach as he gets ready for classes that day. He’d been hiding in the hall bathroom across from his and Virgil’s room, waiting for the kid to leave. As soon as he’d walked out, Roman waited a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t coming back, and then he’d darted back into their room.

That’s another thing he has to figure out: what the hell to do about his roommate. He’d pretty much hated the guy from the moment he’d walked in and called him a jackass, and now…

No. Roman’s not ready to reflect on the events of last night and this morning just yet. He’s already blushing furiously.

He’s glad his first class (statistics) is on the opposite side of campus from wherever Virgil goes in the mornings. He doesn’t want there to be a single possibility of running into him. He’ll be able to put him and Izzy out of his mind, actually focus on the lesson for once.

But once he gets there it’s clear that the lesson isn’t going to be any clearer than it has been all semester. Ten minutes in, exclamation points and parentheses are swimming through his head, his pencil is skimming across his paper in a quick but somewhat detailed sketch of what promises to be Izzy, and his mind is, strangely, on Virgil.

He finds himself wondering how his cousin came to be mixed up with his roommate. It was an odd coincidence, to be sure, but what was even odder for Roman was the fact that the two seemed to get along so well.

They’re both insufferable, they were bound to get along, he wants to tell himself. But it’s not quite true and he knows it.

What Virgil did for him last night…

No. He can’t think about that just yet.

Instead he settles on Logan. His cousin isn’t actually so bad, really, it’s just that he’s so incredibly smart, and very aware that he’s smart, that makes him so hard to get along with. He makes you feel as though you don’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things.

This is not helping. Roman tries to turn his mind back to Logan’s good points: he had seemed quite concerned about Izzy, which was nice. Augh. Roman’s mind spirals down into Izzy again, and he almost wants to get up and leave the room just to be alone with his heartbreak. He can’t stand the thought that nobody else in the room can feel his pain, that it’s not visible in the form of a scar or a wound or a broken limb.

It feels like it should be. Like it should be advertised for the world to see.

They were going to be endgame, and instead they were just another “long distance doesn’t work” couple. Suddenly Roman wants to get up and leave the room, but he can’t. He’s stuck here through another snorably boring class with no choice but to force himself to take in as much as he can, despite the fact that none of it actually seems to be going to his brain. He can’t afford to skip a class, much as he would like to.

However, that doesn’t stop him from playing 2048 on his laptop and convincing himself he’ll learn “by osmosis”, which is possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever told himself.

When the class finally ends he’s the first one out the door, packing up in two seconds flat. On his way to creative writing he passes the theater building, and that’s when he sees the flyer on the noticeboard.

The spring production has been announced. Finally. FINALLY. Roman glues his eyes to the poster, tracing over the cursive spelling out “Macbeth”, over the face of a girl he doesn’t know, fingers covered in fake blood, clearly supposed to be Lady Macbeth. He checks the audition dates, checks them again, checks them a third time.

There’s no other information on the sheet and he starts to panic a little. There’s nothing about preparing a monologue, nothing that gives him dress code, nothing to prepare him in the slightest.

He heads back to his room to attempt the impossible task of trying to find a good Shakespeare monologue that hasn’t been overused, deciding subconsciously to skip lunch in the process...unfortunately, Virgil’s back there.

He yelps as he opens the door and sees him sitting on the bed, reading, and Virgil drops the book. “What the fuck?” he says, and for once he sounds more startled than hostile. Roman narrows his eyes.

“It’s my room too, you know,” he says, and it feels good to fling Virgil’s words back at him, but not as good as he would’ve hoped. Virgil recovers quickly, replacing his startled expression with one of pure loathing.

“Well, excuse me for expecting a knock,” he grumbles. Roman ignores him and goes to sit down at his desk.

For once, Virgil doesn’t get up to leave.

Even as he’s pulling up google Roman’s side eyeing him, wondering why he hasn’t left yet. Usually his spook of a roommate clears out the moment he returns, Roman assumes because he’s hated him from the moment he first laid eyes on him. But now, Virgil’s stubbornly picking up his book, crossing his ankles in his absurd, sex dungeon looking boots, and glaring at Roman with those piercing eyes before apparently deeming him unimportant and returning to his reading.

“Aren’t you going to...you know. Skedaddle. Or something?”

“Staying right here,” says Virgil through gritted teeth, and it reminds him a little of the strained, nervous platitudes he’d echoed to Roman last night; of the hand on his back and the comforting, soothing warmth of someone else’s shoulder.

He pushes the thoughts away guiltily, a blush already creeping up his neck. He turns back to his laptop before Virgil sees and wonders what the hell that’s about. _Roman's_ not even sure what the hell that’s about.

Probably just...very deep embarrassment.

What else would it be?

Roman lets out a huff and continues to scour the internet for useful Shakespeare monologues, pausing whenever he finds one he likes and muttering it under his breath to himself. It feels good, the comfort of the words rolling over his tongue, the sureness and certainty of a character that is not his own, of not having to wear a mask.

He must be speaking a little louder than he thinks he is because after what must be twenty minutes or more Virgil clears his throat. Loudly.

Roman looks up from his laptop and turns around. “My room,” he growls.

“OUR room,” Virgil counters.

“Well, it won’t be for long if you keep pestering housing like you’ve been doing and then we’ll both be free of each other so why don’t you just shut up and let me practice until that happens?”

Virgil looks somewhat shocked, and Roman assumes that that means that his guess was correct. He supposes that came out somewhat harsher than he meant it. He waits for Virgil to retort, but instead all he says is, “How do you know that I’ve been...pestering housing?”

Roman folds his arms and pouts. “You head that way every morning and there’s no classes in that building. Obviously you don’t want to live with me so I assumed you were putting in requests to leave.”

The shocked expression remains on Virgil’s face for a few more seconds, eyebrows drawn upward and marring his smooth forehead. Then his face relaxes again into his usual scowl. “Well. Guess you’re smarter than you look.”

He picks up his bookmark from where it had fallen on the bed, gets up, and tugs on a coat. Roman doesn’t think he’s seen it before; it’s dark gray and long, swirling around his heels and not quite buttoning far up enough to hide Virgil’s collarbone.

Ugh, why is he thinking about this?

“Where are you going?” he asks, because he can’t think of anything else to say, and Virgil shrugs. “To lunch,” he says. “You can come, if you’re ever planning on eating.”


	12. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil's slipped up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Y'all get an extra chapter today because they're both so short. Enjoy!

Virgil cringes as soon as he shuts the door. Why the hell had he said that? He didn’t want anyone with him. Not even Patton or Remy or Logan and especially not Roman. _Especially_ not obnoxious, over loud, in your face Roman.

He prays to whatever god may be out there that Roman ignores him. It shouldn’t be a hard request to grant, Roman has no interest whatsoever in his pathetic emo roommate.

Whatever gods exist don’t appear to be paying attention today, though, because a second later the door opens and Roman’s half shrugging into his own coat in a movement that really shouldn’t be so smooth and graceful for a guy so big (Roman has at least four inches on Virgil).

See, Virgil’s got a problem.

Ever since last night he can’t stop thinking about how pretty his infuriating roommate is. Every time he dumps his laundry out on the floor and leaves it there for days, every time he forgets to put his toothbrush back in the holder, every time he barges into the room without knocking. He looks up to glare at him and then...bam.

And last night, last night he’d thought his heart might actually physically beat out of his chest. Virgil hadn’t been that close to anyone besides Patton in he didn’t know how long. Years, maybe. Had he ever?

Had he ever been that close to anyone?

He gropes for memories of his parents, anything, but comes up empty. No. Just Patton and Roman, then. And it’s never....like that...with Patton. Patton’s never been crying into Virgil’s shoulder so hard he’s concerned he might actually physically hurt himself from choking on the sobs. Patton’s never given him cause to believe he’s fragile.

He looks over at Roman, rapidly catching up to him, towering over him and glaring at anyone who gets in their way. Heck, Roman hasn’t exactly given him cause to believe that he’s fragile, either. Virgil had hardly even noticed but people are starting to part in front of them like the water before Moses in the red sea.

Huh. He should walk places with Roman more often.

Or not! Or not. He could get his room with Patton back, and then he’d never have to see Roman again. Maybe he’d hear annoying stories about him from Logan, and that would be fun, because it wouldn’t require him to be in his presence and he could look at it from afar and be extra glad he wasn’t related to Roman.

Never have to look at his stupid gorgeous face again.

It’s hard, though, hard not to remember what it was like when Roman pressed his face against Virgil’s shoulder and Virgil stilled because he could tell that this was a big deal, a really big deal, a never tell anyone even Patton kind of deal, even before Roman had sworn him to silence. He still remembers the way that Patton’s features felt, even through the fabric of his tee shirt, fine and long and elegant. Damn, Roman had such a good face.

Virgil catches himself blushing at that. He doesn’t know how he’s going to sit through an entire meal with Roman.


	13. Patton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton and Logan get to know each other a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't like smut in your plot, this is definitely the chapter to skip. I'd like to think there's some important character development here, but strictly plotwise if you don't read this chapter you won't have missed too much. (So obviously, warnings for sexual content here.)

Patton leans forward in his seat and pokes Logan in the back. Logan turns around and raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say “really?” Patton shrugs, giggles into the back of his hand, pretends to turn his attention back to the huge projector screen in the front of the even bigger room.

There’s no way Logan can actually be paying attention to this class. No way.

And besides, Patton still doesn’t understand how people can be so hopelessly lost that they still need an academic success course this many weeks into the school year. If anything, it’s just heaping on to their workload.

“Did you need something?” Logan mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, nope, nothing at all,” says Patton, and tosses him the note they’ve been sliding back and forth. It hits him in the back of the head, and Patton has to suppress another stream of giggles.

He hadn’t really expected Logan to show any interest, him being so deeply...nerdy...and all, but if this is what flirting with this guy is like then so be it. Patton was happy to oblige.

Logan puts up a good show of looking perturbed, but takes the crumpled ball of paper and smooths it out on his desk. Patton tries not to read over his shoulder; it’s so much more fun to read for himself. A few seconds later he gets the note back.

_Are you paying any attention whatsoever?_

Patton’s answer takes about two seconds to scribble down.

_Are you?_

The note comes back, folded neatly.

_Obviously._

Logan takes longer to write, he notices. Maybe because he’s actually paying attention. Or maybe because the meticulous letters of his handwriting take ages to form.

Or maybe he just wants to torture Patton.

Then again, if this was a punishment, why didn’t he just stop writing?

Patton’s bored. He decides to stop being coy. _Pay attention to me instead._

Logan has the paper for so long this time that Patton almost falls asleep. It’s very easy to fall asleep in this class, but even the back of Logan’s head is pretty. How is someone’s head being attached to their neck so hot, Patton wonders. Something about the slope of his shoulders and the way he holds himself...yes...something like that…

Logan holds on to the note for an even longer tie this time. He actually has to tap Patton on the shoulder to get his attention, which makes Patton grin like an idiot. The single touch sends tiny shivers down his body.

A single word: _maybe_

Suddenly everyone is packing up and Patton looks up, startled. Honestly? Those two hours had flown by. The anticipation of Logan’s notes had apparently been enough to get him through.

Logan’s already packed, already heading down the steps. Patton sweeps everything off his desk in a huge armful and stuffs it into his bag, slinging it onto his shoulders without zipping it.

“Aren’t you gonna wait for me?” he calls after Logan, half worried he’s coming on too strong but not wanting to lose him. Logan stops, turns his head, apparently surprised.

“I would’ve waited if you had asked.”

“Oh,” says Patton, and dashes down the stairs to catch up to him, nearly tripping over himself. He pauses on the last step above Logan, admiring the way he tilts his head up so far to meet Patton’s eyes. Then he jumps down to the last step and they’re walking again, and Patton’s heart has fluttered all the way up into his throat. He pulls out his phone and texts Remy: _Hey, would you mind clearing out for a bit? This could totally be nothing but if it’s something I don’t want to...disturb you._

A second later he gets a response: _Sure thing, lover boy._

Patton blushes a bit at the text and shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Logan furrows his brow. “Who are you texting?” he asks.

“No one,” Patton says promptly. “Say, Logan, do you have anywhere to be after this?”

Logan blinks. “Are you...flirting with me?”

Patton blinks. “I, uh-”

Logan gives him a slight smile and reshoulders his bag. “Relax, I noticed. I’m not so oblivious to romantic advances as Virgil would make me out to be.”

“Oh.” Patton considers this for a second. “Ohh. And you’re...are you…”

“I do not have anything to do for the rest of the day, Patton,” says Logan, and pauses before saying in a deeper voice, “or anything tomorrow morning either.”

Patton can feel the flush creeping up his neck again and this time he doesn’t mind at all. “My room’s empty,” he says, and they head off toward Pine.

Patton tries to make conversation about school on the way there, but he’s too excited and Logan’s detailed answers are going straight over his head. He tries to nod and look interested, and truly it’s a bit dizzying how Logan’s mind works (puzzle pieces snapping together in constant rhythm, words stacking together paragraph after paragraph in much the same way) but he can’t say he isn’t a bit distracted.

No, he’s...very, very distracted.

The hall is mostly empty, aside from a few people quietly studying or napping in the lounge. Patton isn’t too terribly nervous about bringing someone who clearly doesn’t live in the hall to his room, but he worries that Logan is. When he looks over, though, Logan has his eyes pinned straight ahead, shoulders squared confidently. He’s fine. Perfectly fine.

As promised, Remy has cleared out--and even cleaned up their cluttered room a little, made both beds, for which Patton is eternally grateful. He makes a mental note to buy her a Starbucks for once...and then turns back to the matter at hand.

Logan’s already standing in the center of the room, looking up at the posters and turning in slow circles. Patton closes the door firmly but quietly behind him and gazes reverently at the beautiful boy standing in front of him “Hi.”

Logan blinks at him again, and Patton notices the tiniest sprinkle of freckles under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose, partially obscured by his glasses. “Hi,” he says, sounding slightly confused, and then Patton walks up and takes him by the tie and he murmurs, “oh,” in the most beautifully revealed way, and then they’re kissing and Patton’s other hand is cradling the spot where Logan’s neck connects to his back and why is this so sexy, the way one body part flows to another and takes over a new space, the way Logan’s tongue is pushing tentatively into Patton’s mouth now, and this must mean they’re fusing a little, becoming one thing that is all quiet pants and scrabbling fingers and closed eyes.

Patton’s hands move down Logan’s back until they find the edge of his polo and tug gently up, and Patton feels Logan shiver as his fingers, still chilled from the air outside, brush the warm skin of his stomach.

The shirt catches on his glasses coming up, and so Patton takes those off too, feels his own fingers shaking as he folds them and places them on the windowsill before tugging Logan’s shirt the rest of the way off. He makes short work of his own shirt, and then they’re standing there, half naked, staring at each other and panting.

Logan looks different without his glasses, Patton thinks. A little younger. Almost smaller. They must be around nearly the exact same height but Patton thinks he’s a little bit taller, and this is accentuated now by the eager, nervous expression on Logan’s face. He steps forward again, kissing along Patton’s jawline and causing little shockwaves of pleasure to explode at the surface of Patton’s skin wherever he’s touched. He kisses down Patton’s neck and Patton stretches his head up, whining softly and grabbing at Logan’s hips. He presses himself flush to Logan, feeling his breathing speed up and his heart thump in his chest as Logan’s fingers climb up his back and come to rest on his shoulder blades. Then they’re kissing again, their mouths warm and wet against the chill of the air, and Patton restrains himself just a little, holds back just enough to let Logan make some headway-

And suddenly Logan’s broken them apart, arms spread out like he’s not sure where Patton went but not sure he wants him back, either. Patton stumbles, confused.

“Logan?”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Logan pants, and for some reason he looks--ashamed? Is he embarrassed? That can’t be right. Patton shrinks back a bit, worried he did something wrong.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs. “What happened?”

Logan shakes his head. “It’s just- it’s. I. Um.”

Patton has never heard Logan stutter so much in the short time that he’s known him. He doesn’t say anything, just stands quietly and waits for Logan to gather the words that are scattered around his head like wayward moths.

Logan steps back to Patton’s bed, sits down, runs a shaky hand through his hair.

He looks up at Patton almost shyly, and pitches his next statement like a question. “I’ve never done this before?”

“Oh.” A beat. “Ohhhh.” Patton tilts his head to one side, studies Logan on the bed. Even like this, somewhat shaken and confused, out of his element, he’s completely gorgeous. Patton pushes that to the back of his mind for now, though. “Wait, like, never? At all?”

“Well, I have kissed people, if that’s what you’re asking,” Logan says, shifting uncomfortable.

Patton mouths “oh my god” to himself, halfway between being suspended in disbelief that no one has ever had sex with this beautiful boy and between new nervousness that he’s the first one, possibly, to have gotten this far.

Logan’s blushing now, and he wasn’t earlier. “I...I understand that my experience is limited. I understand if you don’t wish to continue.”

Patton walks a few steps closer to the bed, scandalized. “Of course I’d like to continue, but I don’t want to keep going if you’re uncomfortable. Do you want to stop?”

Logan looks up at him with huge doe eyes and Patton can feel the fear there- fear that he hopes is mixed with excitement. “No,” he says, in a small voice. “But I...I don’t...I...ugh.”

He buries his face in his hands, and Patton bounces down next to him on the bed and places one hand very carefully on his knee. “Don’t what?” he asks softly, and between Logan’s fingers he can see that his whole face is well and truly red.

“I don’t know how to...to…”

“Oh.” says Patton, and then immediately perks up. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that, babe,” he says brightly, ignoring Logan’s slight whimper at the use of the pet name. “I can do that. If you want. I usually do. All you have to do is lie there.”

Logan looks crestfallen. “Won’t that be putting all the work on you?”

Patton shrugs. “Not like I mind. Or, hey, let’s...hm. Let’s not go all the way today, alright? We can try something else.”

Logan unburies his face from his hands, looking a little happier. “Are you sure I’m not...not just boring you?”

Patton snorts, a little offended that Logan would even suggest it. “Of course not.” He reaches out and boops Logan in the nose. “You’re gorgeous, and I am honored.”

Finally Logan gives him a small smile.

“We’ll stop if it’s too much,” Patton promises. “Don’t you dare let me keep going if you’re uncomfortable.”

“O-okay,” Logan stutters, and then he reaches out and removes Patton’s glasses. Patton smiles down at Logan’s slightly blurry face, and Logan shoves his glasses onto the bedside table.

Patton gets on to the floor, positions himself directly in front of Logan. Logan peers down at him, expression unreadable, and Patton reaches over to take the end of Logan’s belt in his hands. “May I?”

Logan nods silently, watching almost fascinated as Patton unbuckles his belt and slides it off, then turns his attention to the snap of Logan’s jeans, fingers working deftly, sliding them off seconds later.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he says to Logan.

“Am I- am I supposed to talk?” Logan asks, wiggling the toes of his right foot.

“Not necessarily,” says Patton gently. “But you can if you want.”

“What- what do I say?” asks Logan, bewildered.

“Tell me how I’m doing. Let me know you’re okay.” He winks. “You could dirty talk me, if you like.”

Logan flushes again immediately and Patton giggles. “You don’t have to, of course. But it’s fun.”

“I’m...I’m not sure I know exactly how to proceed,” says Logan, and Patton gets the feeling that that’s not something he says a whole lot.

“That’s okay, babe,” Patton purrs, and he doesn’t miss Logan’s intake of breath at the word “babe”. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

He sits back up, tugs Logan’s jeans all the way off, gently places his hands either side of his hips and shoves him backwards a little bit. Logan lets out a small whine and Patton lets his hands creep forward, turning from the outside to the inside of Logan’s thighs. He slides his hands up until they’re inside Logan’s boxers and the whining gets louder.

“Do you want me to take them off?” asks Patton coyly.

“Yes. Please. That would-” Logan bites his lip. “Yes.”

Patton takes his time. He can tell that Logan’s trying to hold back his whimpers, but the longer he keeps it going the louder he is. He can’t believe how horny Logan is already- and then he remembers that he’s never done this before, and it’s like a little bit of Logan’s nervousness rushes into him.

It’ll be fine, he reminds himself. He’s done this dozens of times. He just has to keep communicating and make sure Logan’s comfortable.  
Finally he pulls Logan’s boxers all the way off and flings them into the pile of discarded clothing on the floor. Logan’s gorgeous, bigger than Patton thought he’d be, but still nothing he can’t take.

Logan’s breathing is coming a little quicker now and he’s wiggling his hips a little, but Patton pauses to remove his own jeans.

“Alright there, buddy?” he asks, giggling a little.

“Yes- just- can you hurry?”

“Of course, love,” says Patton, kicks the rest of his jeans off and positions himself again between Logan’s legs. He leans forward carefully and wraps his tongue around Logan’s tip. Logan lets out a surprised gasp, and one of his hands flies up to grip Patton’s shoulder. Patton hums in contentment and takes more of Logan’s length into his mouth, tongue pushing against his slit. Logan’s shaking a little, hand tightening on Patton’s shoulder.

Patton works on him for what only seems like a few seconds, relaxing enough to nearly eliminate his gag reflex and taking Logan’s entire cock in his mouth. He moves his lips gently along it and Logan lets out a low keening moan, and then his other hand is tangled in Patton’s hair and they’ve gotten into a rhythm. Logan is thrusting into him without even meaning to, Patton thinks, and the firmness and aggressiveness of Logan’s big hand roaming his hair makes him feel pleasantly warm all over.

“Patton-!” Logan warns, half panting, but Patton’s ready, been ready for him, and grips Logan’s thighs as he comes, swallowing hard. Logan yelps at the feel of Patton’s warm mouth as the sensitivity takes over and pulls out quickly, and Patton lays his head on Logan’s leg, stroking himself roughly through the orgasm and riding the shockwave of pleasure in overlap with Logan’s. Patton lies there for a minute, shuddering, head still against Logan’s leg, and he realizes that Logan still has a hand in his hair.

“You okay?” Patton asks softly, and in response Logan lets out a weak whimper and cards his hand through Patton’s hair. There’s few things Patton likes more than having his hair pet, but right now he wants to make sure Logan’s okay. He crawls up onto the bed and Logan immediately half collapses onto his chest.

“Logan?” he asks a little more concerned.

“Mm...I’m okay. It was just. A little more intense than I’d expected? It was definitely good, though.”

Patton smirks down at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I’m...perfectly happy for you to interpret it as such,” says Logan, still panting. “Is it...normal for me to be so completely exhausted?”

Patton shrugs. “Maybe not all the time but it’s perfectly normal to be overwhelmed. Especially if that was your first time being intimate with someone.”

“It...definitely was,” says Logan.

Something occurs to Patton suddenly. “Hang on..have you ever touched yourself? Like, at all?”

“Not...really…” says Logan. He blinks sleepily and shoves his face further into Patton’s collarbone.

“Oh my goodness, are you serious?” asks Patton. Logan half shrugs.

“It never really seemed...important.”

“Huh,” says Patton, still slightly out of breath. “Well...that explains....this mess.” He waves a hand at Logan’s slumped and exhausted form and giggles deliriously.

Logan sits up quickly. “Was it bad? Was I…?” 

“No, no,” says Patton hurriedly. “It was just quick, is all.” He smiles. “Nothing wrong with that. Wanna get cleaned up?”

“Sure,” Logan mumbles. Patton stands and hauls him up, entwining their fingers together. Logan looks sleepy but still bright eyed, and he allows Patton to tug him into the bathroom with no protest. Patton sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches Logan, who is shifting uncomfortably, clearly unused to this.

“Do you want me to turn around?” Patton murmurs.

“That would be somewhat ridiculous,” says Logan immediately. “You’ve just- we’ve- we, uh-”

Patton giggles. “I know, silly. But that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable with everything.”

“Oh.” Logan takes a moment to consider this. “Well...in that case...I wouldn’t mind if you turned around. But maybe….maybe don’t stop looking entirely.”

“Will do,” says Patton, trying to hide his smile. He knows Logan is nervous but he’s just so damn cute. _Especially_ when he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Patton’s so used to seeing him calm, collected, and put together...watching him fall apart from pleasure, flustered and blushing, is just about as much as Patton can handle.

He runs the water, glancing back to check on Logan every few minutes, who is shifting his weight from foot to foot and watching Patton shyly. Finally Patton turns the showerhead on, climbs in, and beckons at Logan to follow him. He does, somewhat apprehensively, Patton thinks.  
He pulls the smaller boy close to him so he’s standing more under the stream of the water (although they’re both too big to be really fully under it) and begins running his hands through his hair, soaking it through to the tips. Logan lets out a low, comforted moan.

Patton’s not really sure that their shower counts as a proper shower. Sure, they get cleaned up from earlier, but there’s not exactly any meticulous scrubbing. Mostly Logan’s just leaning into Patton, allowing himself to be held, and Patton running his fingers over Logan’s beautiful form.  
They dry off in the steaming bathroom and when they come out, it’s pouring rain, which always makes Patton feel safe and warm. Patton finds Logan a set of pajamas- just a pair of his boxers and some basketball shorts- and then puts on something similar.

“Do you normally wear a shirt to bed?” Patton asks.

“Normally,” says Logan, with hesitation. “But...I don’t want to. Tonight.”

Patton smiles warmly at him. “Gotcha.”

He roots through the pile of their clothes for a second until he finds his phone, and then texts Remy. “You good?”

“Fine. Staying over at Talyn’s. You?”

“Never been better,” Patton texts back, grinning.

“Who’re you texting?” Logan mumbles from the bed. He glances over. Logan’s already snuggled under the covers, hair starting to fluff, eyes half lidded.

“My roommate,” says Patton softly. He walks over and pulls back the duvet so he can wrap himself around Logan, who protests sleepily at the inclusion of the cold air.

“Shh, love. Go to sleep.”

Logan tucks his head under Patton’s chin and promptly falls straight asleep. Patton stays up for a bit longer, planting gentle kisses along Logan’s hairline until he’s so sleepy he can’t move.

Both of them sleep through the knock on the door the next morning.


	14. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil discovers some new information--and takes it very, very badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> This author's note is gonna be long, so if you're going to skip it, I have one bit of information to leave you with: this chapter is extremely upsetting. Please proceed carefully.
> 
> This story is not everyone's cup of tea. It's dark. As of last chapter, it's smutty. As of this chapter...well, honestly, I think this is as bad as it's gonna get. It does take a turn for the dark/sad/devastating again but not like this. To be quite honest I've never written anything like this ("this" being this whole fic) before.
> 
> I cried writing this chapter. A lot. I had to get up, walk around, breathe, drink some water. This is partially because I really, REALLY get into character's heads when I write, but also because it's downright upsetting.
> 
> Books don't tell you when you get to the traumatizing part. There is no warning, no tags, no reminder before each chapter to tell you: there is death here, trauma there, mentions of drug use over there. You go in blind, which gives you the advantage of a spoiler free, suspenseful read. There's costs and benefits. I was never the same after reading Emma Donoghue's "Room" and honestly I wouldn't want to be, but I'll admit I really could've done with a warning.
> 
> This is the advantage of fanfiction. I get to tell you guys: this is as bad as it gets. I promise. This chapter involves severe self harm possibly (depending on your interpretation) bordering on the suicidal. I do not condone the actions of any of my characters, even the ones trying to help (dare I say especially?). I know this is something we all hear in grade school, but it bears repeating. If you think there's a possibility that someone might kill themselves, please, call emergency services. Their feelings on the matter are never worth their life.
> 
> I love you all and remember, this is the worst it will get. I promise.

“I’m...I’m sorry, what?” asks Virgil. His hands are curled around the edge of the desk that the person in charge of housing sits at. It feels familiar. He can almost feel the sun from the pool beating down on him.

It’s the day before winter break, before he goes home and it won’t matter for a while, and yet Virgil can’t break the habit of his daily pilgrimage to housing, to beg them to let him stay with Patton.

The woman behind the desk lets out a low, passive aggressive sigh through her nose. “I believe you heard me, sir. I can’t process your roommate request unless both of you have put in a request.”

“But he has! He- we both did. Like, three months before school started. Before he went to orientation, even.”

The woman at the desk lowers her glasses and peers at him over them. “You’re supposed to meet your roommate at orientation, young man. Was he assigned to you then?”

“I…” Something’s not making sense. Virgil’s mind is swirling. He thinks he might throw up. “I couldn’t make it to orientation. Patton--Patton went though.”

The woman tilts her head. “And was he told that you were his roommate then?”

“I don’t know,” says Virgil, and he’s absolutely horrified to feel the tears balling up in his throat, so close to breaking loose. “I...he never said anything.”

“Then I’d suggest you ask him,” says the woman at the desk. “If his application didn’t request you as well, we can’t place you together.”

“Okay,” Virgil mumbles.

As he walks away he hears the intern who’d been filing papers get up and walk over to her.

“Why’d you tell him?” he asks in a not quite whisper.

“What was I supposed to do, lie?” asks the woman. And that’s when Virgil starts running. He doesn’t want to know the truth. He really doesn’t. But he knows he won’t have peace until he does.

It’s barely even seven yet--Virgil always walks over to housing early--and he doubts that Patton will be up, but he wants to try anyway. When he gets to Patton’s room, though, there’s no answer. He waits two minutes and knocks again. Nothing. Fuck.

Roman’s still in their room, and he has class anyway, but right now he doesn’t think he could concentrate if you paid him. So he does a lap of Pine, walking at first. Then another. Then another one, sprinting this time. On the fourth round he slows to a jog, but the pounding in his chest and the harsh scrape of the breath in his lungs only makes it worse.

Patton just...left him. Just. Decided not to tell him that he didn’t want him anymore. It’s the confirmation of everything that Virgil’s every suspected from day one, from that first year, the first time they ever hung out: Patton hates him.

He’s a pity project, and Patton has decided his work is done. And honestly who can blame him? Virgil is a mess. A fucking mess. He can’t hold himself together for more than three days without having a panic attack, a breakdown, without sitting huddled in his closet with a knife, music cranked up so loud that no one can tell he’s screaming, no one can hear the gasps of pain.

Not that they’d care if they could.

And of course Patton wouldn’t say anything. Of course. He’s too nice for that; too nice to look Virgil in the eye and tell him that he’s no longer worth his company, no longer worth anything (not that he ever was.)

Virgil is holding back the tears that have been threatening to spill over through sheer force of will and anger now, and he can’t tell if it’s at himself or Patton. He checks his watch: Roman has gone to class. Their room is safe.

He comes in through one of the back entrances so he won’t have to go past Patton’s room and disappears into his own. It’s kind of a mess; Roman’s clothes are scattered everywhere and Virgil’s insistence of never unpacking has become something of a problem. There are books everywhere, various stacks of paper on the desk and his bed and the nightstand. It’s horrendous.

Virgil doesn’t even notice. He pulls his laptop off the desk and sits on the floor leaned against the end of his bed, curls around it and cries. He knows perfectly well what he’s doing, and he can’t quite decide whether or not to hate himself for it.

If you had just done better, the voice in his head is saying. If you were brighter, or kinder, if you had any kind of self respect, Patton would actually like you.

There’s another voice, though, telling him that that’s impossible; he can’t change, even if he tried. A voice telling him that the next best thing he can do is punish himself in whatever way he can.

He opens an incognito tab and searches “self harm” and when that’s not enough, he searches “severe self harm”, and scrolls, and scrolls, and scrolls, letting his eyes drink it all in and absorb it, trying not to choke, trying not to instinctively turn his face away. This is what he deserves, all of this, it’s what he can and should do to himself.

If only he weren’t a coward.

He’s not sure how long he’s lying there, flipping back and forth between self pity and self loathing and the awful, awful spark of anger. Long enough that he stops looking through google images and starts searching for more, for darker stuff, for the bordering on dark web forums where people congregate to encourage the darkness, and when he thinks he can’t take one more second of it he closes all the tabs, replaces his laptop on his desk, and scrabbles under his bed for his supplies.

He doesn’t even go into the bathroom for this. Just shuts both doors more firmly, makes sure they’re locked, lays down an old t shirt and pulls out his razors.

He’s going deep.

He’s not sure he’s ever gone this deep before, but he can’t even feel it and there are tears falling thick and fast and mingling with the blood, and he’s starting to panic because he really can’t feel anything, not even a slight tugging, not the edge of the blade at the beginning of a cut.

Just.

Nothing.

His breath is tightening in his chest and he knows he’s having a panic attack--hell, maybe this whole thing has been an extended panic attack--but he can’t even bring himself to care anymore. He can only lift the blade again and again, trading hands when his fingers are too numb and shaky to go on. It feels like hours. Like days. Years. It occurs to him that there’s a possibility that the blood is soaking through the t shirt he’s laid down and into the carpet, but he’s too far gone to do anything about it. He forgets why he’s doing it: all he knows is that he has to keep going, to go deeper and deeper and deeper--

The door opens, and Virgil’s mind goes white hot blank. He freezes absolutely still.

He hears a heavy sigh from his roommate, a thump as his backpack is tossed in his bead, and then he hears the exact second that Roman realizes, with what Virgil can only imagine is growing horror, exactly what he’s been doing.

He hears his name, barely above a whisper, the smallest click as the door shuts.

He hadn’t known that Roman knew his name, really. He supposes his name is still on the door. But he’d never heard him speak it out loud.

“Oh my god,” whispers Roman, and Virgil jumps: he’s kneeling right next to him, having approached soft as a cat padding along the carpet.

“D-don’t tell anyone,” Virgil stutters, and instinctively moves to curl his arms around himself, to hide it--and screams. The pain washes over him in waves, pounding against his chest and crawling over his skin like a thousand needles scratching at him, trying to take him apart. For a moment he’s not sure what to do, how to form words or where to move or what will take the damn pain away--and so he just falls, blinded, sobbing, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that this can’t possibly get worse, nothing can get worse, this is the end, he wished he could just die--could he die? Has he gone deep enough?

He hopes he has.

There are hands at his shoulders and a soft voice in his ear, muttering “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” over and over, and he hears a hitch in breath that could be the beginning of tears, but he’s too strung out to care, too flayed raw, too open. He lets out a low his through his teeth as something comes in contact with his arm but all he can manage is a rough low growl--“don’t touch--” and then the touch is immediately gone and he feels Roman retreat, now chanting “okay, alright, just--okay.”

“Virgil?”

Virgil shakes his head, exhausted, wishing he could just drop out of existence.

“Virgil, please let me clean you up.” He hears Roman’s voice break...and the last ounce of strength that he’s using to resist is gone. He doesn’t want to open his mouth but he holds out his arms as though waiting for handcuffs and a moment later Roman scrambles up and starts dabbing at the raw skin on his wrists, working his way down. He’s apparently found the paper towels, which means he’s found the razors--and then Virgil remembers that it doesn’t matter anymore and just lets himself cry, tucking his chin into his chest and resting his arms on his knees so that Roman can get to them.

He feels utterly destroyed, and he’s in so much pain that all of his remaining consciousness is going into not screaming.

“Shit,” says Roman. “Shit, Virgil--please, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No!” Virgil yelps. “No--I--please, Roman, please.” He’s babbling incoherently, begging, because this is literally the only way it can get worse, he can’t go to the hospital, no one can know, he can’t--

“Please, I’d--I couldn’t--I couldn’t live. Like that.” says Virgil, and he doesn't even know what they'll do with him, but he knows that Roman knows what he means and right now he doesn’t care that he knows, but it’s his last straw, his last resort, the one thing he’s never told Patton, that he wishes he could choose his own escape--

But it seems to still Roman.

“Okay,” he whispers, and Virgil’s never even imagined his roommate scared before. “I won’t tell anyone but you have to let me help you.”

“Alright,” Virgil mumbles, because he’ll do anything to keep this secret, and after a couple minutes Roman drags him into the bathroom, locking both doors.

“I’m going to rinse this off, okay?” Roman says, and Virgil nods numbly because he’s too tired to do anything else.

It hurts so bad that Virgil turns his face into Roman’s shoulder and bawls, not thinking, not able to handle facing any kind of consequences. He thinks he must’ve fallen asleep at some point, or passed out, because there’s a blank space in his memory and he’s lying on his bed. His arms feel tight and sore and he never wants to move again. He’s not sure he can.

He starts to speak, not even sure what he’s saying, but the moment he tries to raise his head one of his arms twitches involuntarily and he lets out a whimper instead.

Roman shoots up from where he’d apparently been lying on the floor.

“Virgil?” he asks, and Virgil’s a little bit scared by the tremor in his voice.

“What?” he mumbles, all the usual hostility drained out of him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Roman whispers.

Virgil cracks an eye open and actually takes him in for the first time; he’s wearing an oversized “Cute is What We Aim For” hoodie, and he’s scrunching the fabric around his hands into sweater paws, cradling his face in the resulting pool of cloth.

“Why...would I?” Virgil asks, genuinely confused.

“You’re hurting,” says Roman, and there’s such genuine emotion in his voice that for a moment Virgil wonders who he’s talking to. “Why wouldn’t you tell someone?”

“You think I’d want anyone to know?” Virgil asks wearily. “No one needs to know I’m this fucked up. You were...an accident. Obviously.”

He tries to haul himself up on the pillows, hissing through his teeth at the pain streaking up his arms and circling his wrists.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” Roman asks anxiously.

Virgil’s eyes widen. “Shit. Shit, I need to drive Patton home. I--” It crashes over him again and the suddenness of it is enough to make his eyes well up again.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on, you can’t drive like this.” There’s an undercurrent of panic in Roman’s voice but Virgil can tell he’s trying hard to keep it in check.

“I have to,” Virgil protests.

“No,” says Roman firmly. “I’ll--I’ll take care of it.” He runs a hand nervously through his hair, leaving it sticking straight up. Virgil’s never seen him so unkempt.

There’s a buzzing sound from the nightstand and Virgil starts to reach for his phone, but Roman grabs it first and hands it to him. Shit. Shit shit shit. It’s 6PM? There’s at least twenty texts from Patton; the last one says that he’s taken the bus into the nearest bigger city and that he’s taking an uber home from there.

“He knocked,” Roman informs him. “Kind of a lot. I told him that you...weren’t ready to go yet. I would’ve driven him home myself, but.” He glances pointedly down at Virgil.

“Why are you helping me?” Virgil asks, and he can’t do it. He just can’t make himself sound aggressive. All his fight is gone.

Roman blinks at him. “How the hell could I not?”

“I...don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to,” says Roman. And then he says something that takes Virgil a minute or so to process. “Would you like to spend Christmas break with me?”

“I...uh?”

“I’m assuming you don’t want your parents to know,” Roman continues. “And Logan’s spending break with me anyway, my parents won’t mind one more person in the house.”

Virgil starts to say something about Patton waiting for him but it comes out as a choked sob and he covers his face with his hands despite the burning in his forearms. Roman puts a hand on his back and shushes him, stroking large, slow circles around his shoulder blades. Virgil can’t really comprehend the reversal.

“You don’t have to come, obviously,” says Roman. “But it’s close and I can...cover for you. Give you time to recover.”

“I’ll go,” Virgil rasps. “My parents won’t even notice. I’ll go.”

 

It doesn’t take long for Virgil to pack his stuff--or, rather, for Virgil to direct Roman to what he wants to pack, because Roman’s still not letting him move properly. Roman’s stuff is already packed and waiting outside the door. Everything feels numb and colorless. When Roman comes across the box that exclusively houses his paper animals he closes it immediately and sets it aside, as though he knows how personal it is.  
Logan arrives at their room a few minutes after all the packing is done, takes one look at Virgil and rushes forward. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Fine,” says Virgil, standing up far too fast and putting one hand over his eyes as the dizziness seizes him. “I’m okay, Logan, I--”

But Logan’s already rushed at Roman. “What’s going on?” He glances back at Virgil. “Why haven’t you left yet? Aren’t you going home?”

“Logan…” Roman picks up a box and hands it to him. “Is all of your stuff already in the car?”

“Yes, of course, it’s parked on this side of campus,” says Logan, but Virgil can tell he’s dying to ask more questions. “Are you going to answer me?”

“Yes. In the car. Not now.” He shoots a meaningful look at Virgil, who shrugs weakly. It’ll probably be easier, honestly, if Logan finds out.

Virgil roots through the boxes until he finds a clean hoodie and pulls it on. He’s immensely grateful for the bandages protecting him from the fabric on the inside. He trails Logan and Roman to the car, trying to stick to their shadows, glad that Patton’s already gone.

He lets Roman take shotgun, pulls Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows out of one of the boxes in the trunk, and settles himself in. About five minutes into the drive he remembers that his parents have no idea where he is and shoots off a bitter text to his mom: _my roommate offered to let me stay with him for christmas_

Two minutes later he gets a response: _thats fine._

He curls in on himself and tries not to be sick.

He can hear the two older boys murmuring to each other in the front seat, and occasionally he catches his name. Once Logan’s voice rises dramatically and Roman brings him back down with a whisper.

It’s like Roman’s an entirely different person.

When they get to Roman’s house (it really is a short drive) no one is home yet. Roman takes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the front door for them. Logan steps hesitantly inside; Virgil’s still sticking to him like a shadow.

“Make yourselves at home, there’s pizza in the fridge,” he says. “Logan knows where everything is. My parents and siblings shouldn’t be home for another two hours--they took the kids to a movie. And. Something else, I don’t know.” He passes a hand wearily over his eyes and heads back to the car. “I’ll unpack. Don’t either of you dare lift a finger. Maybe put something on tv? I don’t care.”

Virgil makes a beeline for the couch and scrunches himself into the smallest possible ball in the far corner. Logan heads into the kitchen silently, and a moment later Virgil hears the microwave beep. Logan sets three plates on the coffee table, vanishes into the kitchen again, and comes back with three cans of sprite.

“There was no other soda,” he says quietly. “Do you like sprite?”

“Yeah,” says Virgil. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

Logan nods, then scrolls through Amazon for a while before searching Doctor Who. “Patton mentioned you liked it, but I’ve never seen it,” he says. “Do you mind if we watch from the beginning?”

“Of course not,” says Virgil. “I think you’d like it.” He takes a bite of pizza. Not too hot but still warm.

They can hear Roman shuffling back and forth between the garage and the upstairs. The opening plays, and then the theme song. Then Logan looks over at Virgil and says softly, “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Virgil shifts uncomfortably. Great. They’re talking.

“Like what?” he asks, hoping the focus remains firmly off him.

“So...concerned.” Logan pauses, waits for Rose to say something to the Doctor. “Roman’s not a very sensitive person, you know.” Virgil snorts. “You seem to have. Brought something out in him.”

That makes Virgil pause. He picks up his can of sprite, scrabbles with the top until the pain of flexing his wrist is too much and he hands it over to Logan pleadingly. Logan takes it with a sigh.

“I know I’m not the most emotional person and I’m definitely not the friendliest, but Virgil…” there’s a soft pop as the can opens and Logan hands it back to him. “You could’ve said something to me at any time. I have....a lot of concern for your wellbeing.” He stops, swallows. “I suppose one could say that you’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend.”

That’s too much for Virgil. He draws his knees further up to his chest, hides his face in his hoodie. He doesn’t think he’s ever done so much crying in one day. This time, though, it’s not out of pain or anger or just straight up misery. It’s guilt. He can’t believe he’s made the person with no feelings upset.

“It _is_ going to be okay, you know,” says Logan, like it’s a scientific fact. And then he reaches out and briefly covers Virgil’s hand with his own. “There are people who can help you. And there are people who love you and care about you who really don’t want to see you hurt yourself anymore.” Pause. “Me included.”

Roman joins them shortly afterward, flinging himself onto the couch between them in a weak attempt at his usual bravado, smile only half reaching his eyes. “What did I miss?” he asks.

“Not much,” says Virgil.

“Lots of scientific inconsistencies,” says Logan, almost-- _almost_ \--making Virgil laugh.

“Ah,” says Roman. “Usual day in the life, then.”

“Have you seen Doctor Who?” Virgil asks.

“Course I have,” Roman answers. “Who do you think I am, Logan?”

Logan just rolls his eyes.

That night after Roman’s parents and brothers arrive and Virgil retreats to Roman’s room, both of the other boys insist on giving him the bed. So Virgil falls asleep there, hours after the other two drop off, snuggled in Roman’s comforter and thinking that maybe, maybe he can give this whole life thing one more shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don't leave end notes except for reference notes, but I wanted to thank you guys for reading this chapter and every chapter leading up to it. Every single one of you give me life. Thank you. <3
> 
> -Thane


	15. Interlude II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas break brings new friendships, new insights...and new anxieties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second interlude! We're getting dow to the wire, people...and honestly this fic is turning out to be longer than expected. Again much of it's been prewritten, but I'm staring at the end of my backlog and thinking...oh, man...I still have more story to tell. Trigger warnings in this chapter for discussion of suicide and manipulation. Everything else should be peachy.

PATTON

Patton spends Christmas break extremely confused and concerned. It’s lovely to see his siblings again and he hadn’t really realized how much he missed his parents.

But Virgil hasn’t responded to a single one of his texts, and Remy’s family is vacationing in a mountain cabin with no wifi, and snake girl has been strangely silent as well.

So even though he’s surrounded by people, he’s pretty sure he’s never been this lonely before. He assumes that Virgil had decided to stay on campus for some reason, based on what Roman had told him. He’s a little weirded out by Virgil not answering the door, and by Roman speaking for him, but he supposes that it’s good that they’re finally trying to get along.

It’s the third day of break before it occurs to him to text Logan.

They don’t really text much, mostly because all of Logan’s texts tend to be more like novels, and usually they had their college success course to rendezvous at and go afterwards to talk or eat. And Patton hadn’t really been sure what to say after they’d fallen asleep together on the last day before break; they’d just woken up and gone their separate ways, getting ready for class, one last quick kiss before Logan left. And then they went home, and Patton hadn’t wanted to make any assumptions, and he was fairly certain that Logan was okay with everything that had happened, so checking up on him almost seemed patronizing.

Stupid, stupid Patton. He should’ve asked him how he was doing.

 _Hi_ , he sends off, too worked up to come up with anything more nuanced. Plus, he’s watching his siblings at the park; he doesn’t have time for carefully crafted, expertly posed questions. _How’s your break going?_

Logan answers almost immediately. _Interestingly_

Huh. That could mean so many things with Logan, Patton’s pretty sure pursuing it will get him another novel length text. Which he doesn’t mind, of course.

But then a second later he gets another text: _Did you know that Virgil is here?_

 _What?_ he types back, fingers flying over the keys. _Here where? I thought he was on campus?_

More typing. His littlest sister, Lily, comes running up to the swing he’s sitting on and pushes her way onto his lap, and he runs a hand absently through her hair. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” she says. “Tired,” and then she sticks a thumb in her mouth and leans her head against Patton’s chest.

 _We’re at Roman’s house_ Logan’s sent. _I’m fairly concerned. He’s doing better today but yesterday and the day before he was distressingly upset. Do you know what happened? He won’t tell us._

Patton blinks at his phone and slowly a sinking feeling settles over his whole body. _What if he found out?_ is the first thought that jumps to his mind and he has no doubt that he’s correct.

He never should’ve listened to snake girl.

Why didn’t he just tell him? Just let him know that he really loved him and that was why he wanted him in a different room? He had no doubt that that was not the way Virgil would interpret it.

He sends Virgil another text to join and clutter the other million texts he’s already sent: _Buddy, are you okay? Please talk to me._ Send. Unread, all of them.

Patton lets out a long, slow sigh and trails his feet through the dirt, trying to kick off just a little bit for Lily.

Lily pokes him gently in the cheek with one grubby, chubby finger. “Sad?” she asks. She’s only three. “Pat sad? Pat sad?”

Patton swipes at this eyes and smiles at her. “I’m fine, Lily. Go play now?” He bounces her on his knee to encourage her to get up, but she only clings to him harder.

“No!” she screeches, voice edging into a whine. “I taaaaay.”

“Okay, Lily stays,” mutters Patton, and she begins to entertain herself by pulling at the cords on his jacket.

Patton opens his phone again. Still nothing from Virgil. There’s something from Logan, though.

_Please, Patton, this is important._

He grunts in frustration, texts back, _I think I know_ and then leaves it to sit for a while. A couple seconds later he gets another text. _I’m not sure exactly how to phrase this, but I have been informed that I was not supposed to be discussing this particular issue with you. Apologies._

Patton stares at the text for a moment, fingers hovering over the keypad, trying to figure out what to say. Well. It’s definitely his fault then, if Virgil doesn’t want Logan to talk to him about it.

Ding. New text.

_I would, however, like to discuss other things with you, if you were also open to that._

Patton can feel his cheeks color a little against the cold December air.

He and Logan do end up talking a lot more that break, albeit over text, but always in the back of Patton’s mind is that absence of Virgil. 

Occasionally he’ll ask Logan how he’s doing, and the answer is always brief but reassuring.

But he can’t help but wonder if Virgil’s ever going to speak to him again.

 

ROMAN

It’s strange, to have the two of them in his house. He’s so used to his annoying brothers, used to singing as loud as he likes and leaving his clothes on the couch or forgetting to clear the table, but oddly having Logan and Virgil in the house has improved his manners. He likes having them around much more than he thought he would--it’s nice having someone his own age to roll his eyes at.

What concerns him, though, is Virgil.

Before...it hadn’t quite been real. It was like wrestling with Oreo, the kid’s collie. All fun and games until Oreo started whimpering and he started panicking that he’d actually hurt him.

That was the point at which he usually told Oreo to go lay down and cuddled him until he whined happily and just hoped his parents and brothers wouldn’t notice. That...wasn’t exactly an option with Virgil, though.

He mostly stayed cooped up in Roman’s room, rereading the Harry Potter books and (occasionally) talking to Logan. Roman’s mother was fussed no end over it.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to come down for dinner?” she asks him anxiously.

“I’m sure, mom. And it’s nothing to do with you, he’s just...very shy.” He took a deep breath, trying to decide how best to phrase this to his mother so as to protect but not humiliate Virgil. “I don’t think he’s very used to people wanting him around,” he tries, pretty sure he has failed on the not embarrassing Virgil front but satisfied that his mom would understand.

“Oh, honey,” says his mom, equal parts distressed and relieved. “Well, you tell him that he doesn’t have to come down if he doesn’t want to, but that he’s always welcome here.”

“Will do,” says Roman, and slinks off to find Logan and give him a progress report.

 

LOGAN

He misses his mom.

It’s not something he’d ever say out loud, but he does. He knows she’s just hell bent on him bonding with Roman, and he wants to make her happy, but it still burns in his chest that he’s not even going to see her on Christmas day.

He calls her every free moment, but he doesn’t have a lot of them and she doesn’t always pick up.

Besides, the whole “bonding with Roman” thing is going better than expected...mostly because of Virgil. Surprisingly, Roman’s a pretty good research partner...and he manages to bring emotion into the picture when Logan can’t seem to grasp it. They still have their arguments, though.  
They’re sitting on the couch together on Christmas Eve, having set out the milk and cookies and made sure the kids are asleep. Virgil has already slipped up to Roman’s bedroom, and neither of them had made any move to stop him. Roman’s playing with Logan’s Rubik’s cube, utterly devoid of anything resembling technique, but the tree’s glowing and there’s a light fall of snow outside and Logan feels too warm and sleepy to try and correct him.

Roman grunts in frustration, turns another side. Then after a moment he looks up at Logan, a strange expression on his face. He glances back down quickly, but Logan’s already caught his eye.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, I...I just...what are we going to do when we get back?”

Maybe a month ago Logan would’ve blankly asked him what he was talking about, but he knows better now.

“About Virgil, you mean?”

Roman nods and bites his lip.

Logan takes the cube from him gently, flips it over a few times, twists one side into a solid square of blue, and hands it back. “I have to admit I’m not sure,” he says.

Roman groans.

“I still think you should’ve called the hospital right away,” he adds sternly.

“We don’t know what would’ve happened if I had though!” yelps Roman defensively.

“We’re lucky you were able to clean him up, and that nothing’s gotten infected,” Logan continues. “Imagine if-”

“Don’t!” says Roman suddenly, actually covering his ears like a small child who doesn’t want to hear that he has to go to bed. “I don’t want to think about it. Please.”

Oh. That had been wrong; he’d said something wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “My point remains, though, he does need professional help, and neither you nor I are a professional.”

“I know that,” whines Roman. “I’m just saying, we have to be careful. I don’t--I don’t want to lose him.” He looks surprised at the words tumbling out of his mouth.

“His safety is more important than our friendship,” Logan reminds him gently.

“I knowww,” whines Roman again, and buries his face in his hands. “Can we think about this in the morning? How about you show me how to solve that thing?”

Logan’s about to protest, but then Roman turns and makes those huge doe eyes at him, and something in his heart melts.

“Sure,” he says, and hands the cube back, placing his hands over Roman’s. “It’s quite simple, really.”

Roman managed to solve the sides by themselves that night, but he never did get the whole picture. Logan ended up scooping him off the couch when he eventually fell asleep and carrying him up to the air mattress they were sharing on the floor of his room.

The next morning, he made it a point to crack as many stupid science based jokes as he could until Virgil finally smiled at him, even before he called his mother to wish her merry Christmas.

 

DECEIT

Deanna Salisbury had what could be called a decent holiday.

Her parents spoiled her, and her sister adored her, and she knew down to her bones that it would always be that way.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t lonely.

Dee had....a bit of a problem. She would find herself hyperfixating on people, knew she would do anything to get to know them, cross lines that she wouldn’t normally touch.

And there was just something about Patton. Something unnameably sweet, something that made her feel as though she’d found something rare and precious. She imagined herself a little girl in an enchanted forest, calling unicorns to her out of the darkness.

She wasn’t sure why she’d done it, at first. It had been easy enough, to find a dress that screamed “business casual” and pile her hair on top of her head and sharped her makeup, to shove aside the poor intern and promise him that yes, this was absolutely up to protocol. It had been even easier to dig through the housing applications until she’d found Patton’s and checked that he had indeed requested a random assignment.

You weren’t normally allowed to discuss other student’s applications. That was something she’d found out from the intern, stammering a protest behind her. She had told him that she was overriding protocol.

It was amazing how many things you could do if you just acted confident enough.

She’d felt bad, just a little, after Virgil (his name _was_ Virgil, she thinks) had run off in tears. She’d felt a little sorry for the intern, who looked thoroughly concerned when she walked out and told him that he was in charge for the day again.

But wouldn’t it be worth it, when Patton came back? Wouldn’t he be ready to welcome her with open arms, no distractions?


	16. Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter for Logan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> I am so sorry. That's....all I have to say for myself, really.
> 
> TW for death and hospitals.

Logan rewraps his scarf around his shoulders and checks his phone for the one hundredth time.

“I don’t wanna see him,” says Virgil, also for the one hundredth time.

“You don’t have to,” says Logan gently, and removes his peacoat to drape it around Virgil, who is shivering violently. He takes it as an excellent sign that Virgil doesn’t immediately hand it back or complain that he doesn’t want help.

“But I really do wanna see him.”

“I still don’t understand the contradictory nature of those statements.”

Virgil stamps his foot and his breath comes out in a huff of silvery air. “I wish Roman would hurry up,” he says, instead of elaborating.  
Roman had run over to housing to get someone to let them back into the dorms (apparently no one had stayed behind in Pine, and the building was locked up for break. Logan’s building was open, but he felt an odd need to stick close to his lab partner.)

“He’s not even here yet, you know,” says Logan, in an attempt to be helpful. “Otherwise the building would be open. He’s probably coming back tomorrow.”

Virgil sticks his hands through the sleeves of Logan’s coat and says nothing. Logan crosses his arms more tightly over his chest to try to retain warmth without being too obvious about the fact that he was freezing. Then Roman emerges from the cold fog hugging the campus buildings, panting and holding up a ring of keys triumphantly.

Moving back in is far more boring and miserable than moving out; Logan drags his stuff to his dorm, carrying as much as he possibly can, and then heads back to Pine to be with Roman and Virgil. It’s new year’s eve and campus is practically abandoned, save for the exchange students, a couple sports teams, and the cast of Macbeth (the reason that Roman had come back early).

They spend the night watching reruns of How I Met Your Mother (Roman’s choice) eating microwaved popcorn, and watching the fireworks from the floor to ceiling windows in the common room. Virgil seems to hate the noise, though, so Logan abandons the window to go sit next to him. Roman stays a bit longer, silhouetted dramatically against the bright lights outside and uncharacteristically, blissfully silent for once.

Halfway through the third bowl of popcorn and the fifth episode, Virgil folds himself into his hoodie and refuses to look up. Logan exchanges a look with Roman.

Virgil had been doing...well, Logan thought he had been doing relatively well, all things considered. He was eating and drinking water throughout today, and Logan made it a point to make sure he went to bed early and that his bandages got changed. And he was talking to them, a little, even if he still hadn’t said what it was that Patton had done to make him so upset.

Patton. Logan checks his phone again: still nothing. Nothing from Patton or his mom, and he was reluctant to call or text again.  
“Virgil?” he asks softly. “What’s up?”

Nothing. Roman’s sitting on his other side now, trying not to look like he’s paying attention but occasionally stealing long glances, and then refocusing on the tv.

Logan’s regretting it now, regretting not having come up with a solid plan with Roman beforehand. He had tried, he’d definitely tried, but they couldn’t agree on anything and Logan didn’t feel that it was quite necessary to involve an authority figure, now that Virgil was out of immediate danger. Not yet, anyway.

They’d talked about making him promise to see a counsellor, but it felt too much like blackmail. And Logan had a nagging feeling that his parents would be no better. Actually, they would probably be much worse. So they’d just been hoping for the best, reassuring him over and over that they were there to talk to him--or at least Logan had.

Roman had been unnaturally quiet all through break, but Logan noticed that he’d offer Virgil a snack if he was having one, let Virgil pick the video game, ask Virgil if he wanted to go out with the rest of the family to dinner or stay at the house. He’d notice that Virgil would scoot a little closer to him on the sofa when his brothers came bounding in like a litter of puppies. He’d noticed that Virgil didn’t leave the room anymore when Roman was practicing his lines.

Logan was good at noticing things.

He was also good at having ideas.

“Hey, Virgil,” he says, maintaining a soft, even tone. “Would you like to see me do something ridiculous?”

Virgil peeks out from his hoodie just the tiniest bit. His eyes are wet and red. “Maybe,” he mumbles.

Logan smiles. He knew that would get his attention. He picks up the remote and pauses the tv. Then he turns to Roman.

“Would you, by any chance, know how to beatbox?”

Roman raises an eyebrow at him, thoroughly confused. “Just a little, one of the guys from chorus taught me. But, Logan-”

“Could you give me a beat?” Logan interrupts. “Please?”

“I- sure?” says Roman.

It doesn’t sound fantastic, but it’s even and steady. Something he can work with. He clears his throat and begins to speak in rhythm. “Look. I was gonna go easy on you…”

Virgil’s head shoots up and Logan sees the tiniest of grins forming at the edge of his mouth. And so that’s why he proceeds to perform the entirety of Rap God, despite Roman’s occasional incredulous falters. When he gets to the end he mimics a mic drop and turns on his heel, and both of the other boys burst into raucous applause. He spins back around, allows himself a small smile, and takes a bow.

“Dude,” says Virgil, thoroughly enchanted. “How the hell have you been able to rap...like….like that...without telling anyone?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s not a skill I usually advertise. However, I suspected it would cheer you up.”

“It did,” says Virgil earnestly. He flaps the sleeves of his hoodie into sweater paws excitedly. “That was kind of awesome.”

Roman’s still staring at him, somewhat slackjawed. Logan turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow. Finally, he asks, “Do you think we could perform Hamilton together sometime?”

Logan looks down at Virgil. His eyes are glowing. “I’ll consider it,” he decides, and ignores the other two as they high five each other.

They fall asleep in the common room that night sometime around four in the morning.

When he wakes up, there’s a text from Patton.

_You guys look cozy. Come see me?_

He does.

 

Logan doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s highly uncomfortable with Virgil and Patton not being on speaking terms. He’s become oddly fond of Virgil, and Patton, well. He’d never really imagined he’d have any kind of relationship like this before. 

He’s actually sort of lost in his thoughts for Patton right now, though, discomfort with the whole situation with Virgil pushed aside, leaning back at his desk with his headphones on, waiting for everyone else to finish their tests and not quite listening to the music.

Then his phone buzzes insistently, cutting off the wail of Robert Smith’s “In Between the Days.” Logan frowns; his phone should be on do not disturb. He glances down at it. Magnolia.

He feels his heart drop down into his stomach and without a word gathers his things into his backpack and walks out of the room; the professor doesn’t stop him. He yanks his headphones out once he’s gotten out into the hall, settling them around his neck haphazardly. He slides the little red button across the screen with shaking hands.

“Hello?” he says. He doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“Logan,” says Magnolia. He thinks she’s been crying. He can’t remember a single returned call from his mother since Christmas Eve. “You need to come home now.”

“I’m coming, I’m on my way, I’m-” Logan’s running, backpack jostling and bumping against his back and students glaring at him as he shoves past, unfeeling. Magnolia must be able to hear him panting, because he can hear her saying “Logan! Logan, calm down, I know this is important but I need you to stay calm--I shouldn’t have answered the phone that way, I just panicked-”

“Important?” Logan splutters. “Important?! I--Magnolia, will you please tell me what’s happening..”

“Your mother’s not doing well,” says Magnolia carefully. “She--she didn’t want anyone else to know, Logan,, I’m sorry, you know I would have called you sooner…”

“I know,” says Logan, forcing himself to take a breath. He’s outside now, and there’s not as much of a hazard as far as running into people goes. His lungs are burning but he doesn’t want to stop. “What happened? Tell me everything. Please.”

“I’m at the hospital,” Magnolia says. “Logan, are you alright? What are you doing?”

“Getting to my car so I can drive to the hospital,” Logan replies matter of factly. Each of his words is punctuated with a huff of breath; he’s almost at the parking lot.

“Be careful,” Magnolia admonishes. “The last thing we need is something happening to you, too.”

“I know, I know, I know,” Logan chants, like a mantra. He does know. He knows a lot of things, like how he’s seen this coming for months and months but just didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to accept it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Logan.

He should’ve gone home for Christmas.

It takes him a few seconds to find his keys, rifling through his bag in a panic and scattering papers and notebooks everywhere. He nearly forgets to gather it all up and throw it in the passenger’s seat. Not that it matters.

He turns the key in the ignition--and nothing. A wave of dread washes over him. He turns it again: click click click, dry and empty, mocking himself with its perfect, useless regularity.

“Oh my god,” he whines, and then he remembers that Magnolia’s on the other end of his phone. He’s been holding it automatically to his ear this entire time.

“Logan? What’s wrong, are you okay?”

Obviously not, he wants to say. Instead he says, “my car won’t start.”

“Oh,” says Magnolia. “Shit.”

Magnolia never curses.

“Hang on,” says Logan. “Um, I’m going to call you back in like five minutes.”

“Okay, Logan,” says Magnolia. “I’ll….keep an eye on things.” Logan hangs up and sprints to Pine so fast that by the time he gets there he’s wheezing and unable to form words. He knocks on Patton’s door and then bends over, hands on his knees, trying to let his breaths catch up to each other.

Remy opens the door. “Hey Lo, what’s u-” Pause. “Um, are you okay?”

“N- I-” Logan stops, sucks a breath in, pulls himself upright. “Is Patton here?”

“Right here,” says Patton, materializing behind Remy and flinging the door fully open. “What...happened?”

“Patton,” Logan pants, “I have...kind of a huge favor to ask.”

“Anything,” says Patton, eyes wide with concern and puzzlement.

“Can I borrow your car?”

Patton looks momentarily confused, and then he gets it. “Oh. Um, Logan...I….I don’t have a car.”

“What?” Logan asks. “How--when--you drove us into town, I-”

“Lo, that’s Virgil’s car,” says Patton, grim faced. “He lets--he used to let me borrow it.”

“Oh,” says Logan. And then, “ _Fuck._ ”

Patton takes a step back at the intensity of the curse, and probably no doubt at the look on Logan’s face as well.

“It’s okay,” says Patton quickly. “We--we can go and ask him--Logan, are you okay? You don’t look great.”

Logan shakes his head, too mired down and buzzing with nervous energy to even think about the implications of Patton and Virgil and the car. 

“Can we please go ask him?” he asks.

“I--yeah, sure, but Logan, I think you should sit down.”

“Not now,” says Logan, already speed walking to Virgil and Roman’s room Remy stares after them looking twice as confused as Patton.

Roman answers the door.

“Is Virgil in there…?” Logan asks.

“Um,” says Roman, blinking. “Yes? I think?” He nudges a bundle of blankets on one of the beds. “Virgil?”

“Mhhph.”, says Virgil, and half sits up. Then he spots Patton and Logan in the doorway and sits up all the way. “Okay, what the fuck?”

“Virgil, I need to ask a really big favor,” says Logan. “Can I borrow your car?”

Virgil raises an eyebrow at Roman, who shrugs. “I mean--sure? Where are you going?”

“To the hospital,” says Logan, and immediately there’s a mix of questioning voices swirling around him. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to think. “Guys, I--please, I just need to go.”

He takes out his phone, hands still shaking, and finds Magnolia in his contacts. He dials her, and for a moment the voices still.

“Hello?”

“Magnolia, I’m on my way. I’ll be there as fast as possible.” He hangs up.

“Logan, what is going on?” Patton sounds the closest to exasperated that Logan’s ever heard him. He shoves his phone in his pocket and takes a deep breath. “My mom’s dying,” he says, and then turns and begins to stalk outside.

There’s a flurry of footsteps behind him, fingers curling around his wrist, lacing through his own, strides hurrying to keep up with his. “Oh my god, Logan, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t know how,” says Logan simply, and keeps walking. He lets Patton take his hand, though.

Behind him Virgil catches his shoulder. “Dude,” he says softly. “You didn’t ask me for my keys. How are you gonna drive without keys?”

He’s pointedly ignoring Patton. Not that Logan exactly cares right now.

Logan stops short. “Oh.” He looks at Virgil expectantly, who shakes his head. “You’re not driving right now, pal. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“But I-”

“Nope. You can have my car so long as one of us is driving.”

Logan searches each of their faces; Patton, eyes so big you could drown in them, Virgil, hard and unrelenting, and Roman, half scared, half determined.

“I…” he sighs, squeezes Patton’s hand. Patton squeezes back. “Okay.”

“Great,” says Roman, and holds out a hand to Virgil. “Pass ‘em over, we’re not letting you drive either.”

Patton’s eyebrows crinkle into a frown as Virgil digs a hand into his pocket and passes Roman his keys. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Reasons,” says Logan wearily, and no one seems to want to explain further.

Logan hates that they’re walking out to the parking lot, but he keeps trying to tell himself that twenty seconds, in the end, is not really going to matter that much. It was all the years before that would count, all the months and days and weeks and--if he wanted to change anything now, it was too late.

He sits in the back, curled instinctively against the door of Virgil’s expensive car, and Patton sits in the middle right next to him even though the other side seat is open because Virgil is riding shotgun.

“Where are we going?” Roman asks.

“Give me your phone,” says Logan, in what must be a more commanding voice than he hears, because Roman looks a little scared as he hands it over. Logan types the address into Roman’s GPS and hands it back. “Now drive,” he says, and then he leans back and completely shuts down.

“Logan?”

Soft. Close. Logan shuts his eyes.

“Lo, you’re shaking.”

He’s suddenly aware of his own breathing. Hyperaware. The air seems to scrape against the roof of his mouth and down his throat, taking bits and pieces of him with it. He tries to follow the colors staining the inside of his eyelids; tries to find something to hold on to.   
He starts counting backwards by fives from 525,600, and doesn’t even realize he’s doing it out loud until he finally recognizes his own voice.

He opens his eyes, and Patton and Virgil are staring at him.

“Logan, you’re scaring me,” says Virgil in a whimper, and his voice cracks on the last word.

“Sorry,” mutters Logan, and stares down at his hands.

Patton is holding one of them.

When had that happened?

“Mom has cancer,” he says flatly, letting his eyes trace over the outline of his and Patton’s hands until he can’t tell whose fingers are whose. “And she’s going to die,” he finishes, saying it with finality. He sees the slight intake of breath from Virgil; hears Patton say, “Oh, Lo…” softly.

“She--she might not die,” says Virgil hesitantly, but Logan shakes his head.

“No.” He’s made up his mind now. “It’s been a long time coming. She’s going to die.”

The rest of the ride passes in silence. At some point Patton puts his head on Logan’s shoulder; Logan hardly notices. Virgil keeps anxiously giving Roman directions- “turn here” “you’re going too fast” “turn signal!! OTHER ONE, Roman, I swear,”. To his credit Roan doesn’t once snap at Virgil, instead saying tightly, “just because you’re not physically driving does not mean you have to verbally drive”, but otherwise stays silent.

The minute they pull into the parking lot he’s out the door. He can hear the others shuffling around behind him, hears someone calling out to him, but he doesn’t turn. He doesn’t wait. He just runs.

The receptionist takes down his name, examines something on her computer screen. It seems to take ages. By the time she seems to have found something, the other three have trailed in through the doors behind him and gather in a rough circle around him all wearing various looks of concern.

Finally the receptionist turns to look at him, face carefully blank. “She’s in intensive care, sir. Third floor, wing C. She may not be ready for visitors.”

Logan exhales slowly, adjusts his tie. “That’s...fine,” he says. “Thank you,” and walks away without waiting to hear her response.

All that time, all that way and they might not even let him see her.

His friends stick close to him; Roman and Virgil are hanging back just the slightest bit, whispering to each other. Patton’s so close he wouldn’t even have to bend his arm to reach out and touch him.

“Whatever you need,” he says as they step into the elevator. “I will help you.”

“Thank you,” says Logan tightly. He looks down. The floor doesn’t feel solid.

Third floor, wing C is not quiet. Logan can hear children crying and people yelling and the constant, steady beep of machinery that is pumping oxygen, cycling fluids, quietly performing the functions of bodies too broken and frail to perform their own.

Logan’s cold. And hungry. And he hates that he’s hungry at a time like this.

He stops at the door to the intensive care unit and just stares. There’s a nurse at a desk just in front of it, and from what little he can see of the inside the light is blue and dull.

“Excuse me,” he says as they approach. “I’d like to see my mother? Joyce Finn?”

The nurse consults a clipboard, biting his lip. “I’ll see what I can do.” Until then, you can take a seat right over here.” He gestures to the circle of chairs in the open waiting area.

Logan’s preparing himself to just stand there until they say they can go in, but Patton takes a hold of his arm and forcibly but gently drags him over to one of the chairs.

“What do you need, Logan, please. Please tell us.”

“Don’t know,” Logan mumbles.

“Water? Have you eaten?”

“Don’t know,” Logan says again, softer this time. “Patton…”

Patton’s standing directly in front of him, holding both of his hands and trying to look him in the eye. “Yes?”

“Can you just...can you sit on my lap? I...I believe...the sensation of being weighed down...would help.”

“Of...of course,” says Patton, sounding confused but amicable. He tucks himself into Logan’s lap and wraps his arms around Logan’s neck. Logan closes his eyes, tucks his head close to his chest.

“It’s basically over now, isn’t it?” he asks Patton.

Patton pauses before answering him. “I don’t know Logan, I really don’t.”

Logan reaches up and adjusts his glasses, mind still blank but not as...floaty now. Patton is holding him down. He’s real. He’s okay and he’s real. He’s. He’s okay for right now.

“Honey, really, is there anything-?”

“I can’t think, Patton…” says Logan tiredly.

“Do you want me to stop asking?”

“No...I just….I just want to know what I need.” He can hear Roman and Virgil talking in the facing chairs. “Pat, if I fall asleep, don’t let me stay like that, okay?”

“I--yeah. Okay,” says Patton.

Time is doing that lengthening itself trick again, and Logan feels that they’ve been there for hours when a nurse finally approaches him. “I can take you in now,” he says.

Logan pushes Patton off of him as gently as he can manage and stands up so quickly that all the blood rushes to his head.

“Do you want me to go with you…?” Patton asks.

“No,” says Logan firmly. “I’m fine.”

He follows after the nurse, and the only sounds in the world are the click of their shoes on the linoleum and the beep of the machines. He tries not to look, tries not to see the other patients laid out on the bed tangled in IV lines and thin green sheets. The nurse pauses when they come to the foot of a bed pushed against a window and gestures at Logan to indicate that he can move forward.

Logan kneels at the head of the bed, trying to force his mind to take in information.

He almost doesn’t recognize her like this, eyes closed, skin pale and thin and veined, hooked up to more machines than his eyes have the capacity to follow.

“Mom?” he whispers, and places a hand at the edge of the bed. She smiles but doesn’t open her eyes, turning her head towards him.

“Logan, honey, you came…”

“Of course I came.” Even. Beat by by beat, word by word. He’s calm now; it feels like the eye of the storm.

“Listen to me,” she says softly. “Don’t fight with Roman, alright? Stay in school. Don’t let me hold you back. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says automatically, and her hand shifts around until it finds his.

Her skin is cold and clammy.

It feels like it’s only been two minutes before the nurse puts a hand on his shoulder and says “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t have visitors here for very long.”

Logan nods, gets up from where he’d been kneeling.

He doesn’t look back as he walks out.

Magnolia meets him at the door. “How are you?” she whispers, but doesn’t touch him.

“I’m alright,” says Logan, with no emotion. Then he goes back to the waiting room to do the only thing it’s good for: wait. Magnolia walks back with him and sits stiffly beside Roman and Virgil.

Roman and Virgil fall asleep first, Roman sprawled out over three of the uncomfortable chairs and Virgil tucked into a ball on his. Magnolia’s head nods over her open book. Patton stays up with him, leaning heavily on his shoulder and murmuring comforting, incomprehensible words in his ear. He thinks maybe some of it is poetry.

He’s the only one up when the nurse comes into tell him.

“Okay,” he murmurs softly over the nurse’s apologies. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nudges Patton awake, and while he’s shaking the sleep from his head he simply says, “she’s gone.”

“Oh,” whispers Patton, and then he smooths a hand over Logan’s face. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”

Logan melts into him, melts into the brief, chaste kiss and feels himself drowning, feels unconsciousness tugging at him and the heavy weight of acceptance settling over him.


	17. Virgil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil discovers a puzzling solution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings this chapter for discussion of self harm, disordered eating, and vomit.
> 
> Alright guys, this is the end of my finished backlog, so updates might be patchier from here on out. I've got a pretty clear shape of how this is gonna end and I have for quite a while. After this one, there will probably be three more chapters. 20 sounds nice, right? Nice and symmetrical. Might be finished before the real school year is over.
> 
> It's been a lot of fun working on this and...don't tell anyone but I _do_ kinda sorta have an idea for a sequel...not sure if I'll ever follow through on that, although I will most definitely write some bonus one shots. In all honesty it'll be a relief to turn my energies to other long works. It's been nearly a full year since planning for this began. I've loved writing it, but all things have their time.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, guys.

Virgil’s no fucking good at this.

He’s no good at knowing what to say and what to do, how to arrange his face into the right expressions, how to communicate with someone who doesn’t deal in emotions. He’s never been so grateful for Patton before--and he’s never been so conflicted.

In the car on the way back, he sits in the back with the two of them. Logan’s been asleep for maybe twenty minutes, nestled into Patton’s side, when he finally asks.

“Patton?”

Patton turns around so quickly Virgil’s afraid he’s going to wake Patton up. “Yes?” he says carefully.

“Do you hate me?”

Virgil watches him melt and suddenly he hates himself for even asking the question, from taking away from Logan, for even caring, for hurting himself so badly that even Roman pitied him, for--

“Virgil, where on earth did you get that idea?”

Virgil can’t meet his eyes. He feels oddly guilty. “You didn’t want to live with me,” he mumbled. “And you didn’t tell me. Probably because you’re, like. You’re too nice to tell me I’m insufferable.”

“Virgil, sweetheart, I-” Patton pauses, swallows. “Hey. Look at me?” Virgil reluctantly meets his eyes, tries not to focus on the fact that they can see him; instead, he traces the patches of darker blue shooting through his irises.

“I’m….you have no idea how sorry I am. I should’ve told you. I just thought…” Patton pushes his bangs out of his eyes, irritated. “I thought I was helping you grow. Nudging you. And instead, I was...I was shoving you. And that’s not right and I never should have done it without talking to you first, but I knew you’d be hurt or resistant or both if I brought it up.” He sighs. “Which should’ve been a perfectly good reason not to do it. I’m...I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” says Virgil. “I’m an idiot.”

Patton rounds on him so fast he nearly gets whiplash. “Don’t you dare,” he says in an almost growl. “Don’t you dare, you beautiful human person, you.” He leans forward and smooths a kiss over Virgil’s forehead and Virgil ducks, embarrassed.

It’s a start. It’s definitely a start.

Logan takes a week off from classes at Patton’s absolute insistence, and Virgil spends the week playing Mario Kart with Patton and arguing with Roman.

It’s not their usual shit, either.

“Please,” says Roman.

“Nope,” says Virgil, swerving and narrowly avoiding falling off the bridge. Patton’s pretty far ahead of him; he needs to concentrate.

“I’m actually begging you. I am on my knees, pleading.”

“Cease and desist, Macduff. I don’t know why you care so much.”

Roman pouts and throws himself dramatically on his bed. “What, I’m not allowed to be concerned for my roommate?”

“Actually pick you laundry up off the floor for once and then maybe, yeah.”

Roman pretends to be offended. “Virgil, I’m an artist. I can’t be concerned with things like...being as much of a neat freak as you are.”

“I’m not a neat freak,” mutters Virgil, who has finally unpacked. “You’re just a slob.”

“Am not!” says Roman.

“Are too,” quips Virgil, and Patton pulls across the finish line in first place. “Shit.”

“Hey, talk if you wanna lose,” says Patton with a mischievous grin. “What’re you two fighting about anyway?”

“We’re not fighting,” Virgil says at the same time that Roman says “Therapy.”

“Ohhh,” says Patton, and sets down his controller. “Virge, hon, you can’t deny it’s probably a good idea.”

“Since when have I ever acted on good ideas?” grumbles Virgil.

“Since now,” Roman announces. “Since--you know.”

Virgil flings his controller down. He still feels weird about Patton knowing about what happened now, from Logan of all people. His arms are finally starting to actually get better, but right now they’re itchy as hell. Playing video games helps a bit, as his motivation to win usually overtakes the need to itch. Logan’s letting him play with his Rubik’s cube as well, and (not that he would ever tell anyone else this) sometimes Roman requests songs and he'll fold origami out of the lyrics. That keeps his hands busy for a while.

Still, even though he’s healing physically, his friends seem hell bent on getting him to heal...mentally. And he’s not sure that’s possible. Sure, he can maintain sort of a stasis on their behalves (Logan definitely does not need any more stress in his life) but to actually change? To do anything for himself?

The whole thing feels like a pipe dream and, frankly, pretty selfish. Still, although he’s relayed this to both Roman and Patton multiple times, they just won’t let up. The Mario Kart argument has been going on for weeks.

He’s just glad they haven’t started blackmailing him yet, although he feels bad for even having the thought cross his mind. But he can’t pretend it hasn’t occurred to him.

Still, he hasn’t even considered their arguments until one night after dinner when Patton completely disappears for a good twenty minutes. They’d all eaten together, as they’d taken to doing since break had ended. They usually hung around the cafeteria to talk for at least a half hour afterwards as they mostly lived in different buildings, and Patton had excused himself to go to the bathroom and just never come back.

“I’m going to go check on him,” he announces, and Roman nods and slides out of the booth for him.

“Patton?” he calls somewhat subconsciously as he opens the door.

“Here.”

He doesn’t sound good. Virgil rounds the corner and finds him sitting on the counter, looking distinctly green.

“What’s up, Pat? You okay?” Virgil asks.

Patton shakes his head, presses a hand gingerly to his stomach. “Virge,” he starts, and he sounds miserable. “Do you remember...do you remember the girl I was hanging out with at the beginning of the year?”

Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Who, Remy? You’ve been hanging out with her _all_ year. She’s your roommate.” He manages to say this with no bitterness in his tone.

Patton shakes his head and lets out a shaky sigh. “No. The girl who was hanging out with me and Remy. I...Virge, she was the one who told you that I hadn’t requested to stay in a room with you.”

Virgil draws his eyebrows together, confused. “But..that was just one of the people at admissions.”

Patton shakes his head. “You went every day, didn’t you? Do you remember seeing her there before?”

“I- uh. I guess I just thought she was an intern? Or something?”

“It was her,” says Patton, with certainty. “And she...well. She….she was doing it because she wanted to break us apart. She’s been...weirdly clingy ever since we got back, but also, like, weirdly irritated? And I think...I think it’s cause we made up.”

He looks at Virgil and shakes his head as though to clear it. “I feel so sick…”

Virgil’s beyond concerned now and almost exasperated. No, that isn’t the right word...worried. Very worried.

“How much did you eat?” Virgil asks.

Patton shrugs, and Virgil steps a bit closer to see that his eyes are watering.

“Patton…” Virgil murmurs, anger and anxiety mixing in his tone. “Are you going to be okay?”

Patton shrugs again and Virgil frowns at him. “Are you going to throw up?” he asks quietly, and Patton nods. He pushes himself gingerly off the counter and goes to kneel in one of the stalls, and Virgil’s never seen him look so straight up miserable. He sits on the tile floor next to him and takes one of his hands. It takes a moment; Patton closes his eyes and curls around himself, tears dripping off his eyelashes.

Finally he leans forward and heaves and Virgil smooths a hand over his back, trying to be comforting and not freaked out.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

“Hurts,” Patton chokes when he can speak. “Hurts so bad…”

“I know,” whispers Virgil, and something in the back of his mind tells him that Roman must’ve felt something like this when he found him: scared, overwhelmed, full of worry and indecision.

Patton leans over again and Virgil can feel his heart racing.

“I think...I think I’m done…” Patton murmurs after that, and Virgil tries to help him up but he shakes his head. His hands are freezing. “Give me a minute,” he says.

He’s still crying.

Virgil is terrified.

“Patton, what happened? How did you know all that stuff about her anyway?”

“She texted me,” Patton says thickly. “Asked if I wanted to hang out, and well...it was a night I was out with you, and she got....really...weirdly mad when I mentioned you, and I was just confused, and, she called me, and…” He stops, sighs. “I don’t think she meant to tell me all the stuff that she did.”

Virgil’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Roman: _Did you two get lost?_ He sighs, rolls his eyes, types back: _I’m talking to him_

Approximately five seconds after that: _Are you guys okay?_

 _Fine_ types Virgil. _I’ll talk to you later_

“Who’s that?” Patton asks weakly, starting to get up. Virgil nudges himself under his arm, props him up slowly. “Roman,” he says. “He’s worried.”  
He doesn’t mean it to be an accusatory statement, but it sounds that way the minute it’s tumbled out of his mouth.

Patton blinks down at him through wet lashes. “I’m...I’m so sorry, Virgil. I fucked up.”

He sniffles, and Virgil can feel his breath catch in his chest. Patton almost never curses. But he doesn’t say what he’s thinking; instead he leads Patton over to the sink and dampens a paper towel. “Wash your mouth out,” he instructs, and Patton does. Virgil swipes the paper towel over his sweat dampened forehead, sweeping his hair back. Then he digs around in his backpack until his hand catches on his water bottle. He opens it and sniffs; it’s not water.

“Um,” he says. “Is tea going to upset your stomach?”

The corner of Patton’s mouth lifts ever so slightly. “No,” he answers. “No, tea would be perfect.”

He takes the water bottle and sips slowly and Virgil watches him like a hawk. There’s an idea forming at the back of his mind, slowly crowding out all the other thoughts, but he’s still not sure he wants to voice it.

Then the guilt washes over him and he feels rotten. What kind of friend wouldn’t? What kind of _person_ wouldn’t do anything for Patton?

Even if it is going to be deeply unpleasant.

Even if Patton says no. At least he will have tried.

“Pat,” he starts, resisting the urge to chew on the ends of his hoodie strings to relieve the nervousness, “would you make a deal with me?”

Patton raises an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “I go to therapy--” Patton gasps-- “but only if you go too.”

“Well, of course I’ll go with you, Virge,” says Patton, sounding much perkier. “If I had known that that was all it was gonna take, I would’ve--”

“No, I--not like that. Well, yeah, that would be nice. But.” He twists his hands into a knot. “I mean. _You_ go to therapy.”

“Oh.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Virgil thinks he’s lost him for a second. Then he says, so soft Virgil can barely hear him, “Yeah, I’ll go.”

“Really?” Virgil squeals, and then turns his voice down about ten notches. “I mean, uh, good. That’s....that’s good.”

Patton manages to giggle at him.

“You ready to go back out there?” Virgil asks.

“As long as I don’t have to eat anything.”

“No one’s gonna make you,” says Virgil. “But I’ll make sure the table is clear.”


	18. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Virgil take a trip. (Not the drug kind).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I can't believe there are only two chapters left...I just gotta let these dudes speak their piece and then exit the stage...bizarre...anyway, enjoy this chapter, it's probably the fluffiest one in this whole thing.

“Duuuuude. Wake uuuuuup.”

Someone’s hissing in his ear. Roman groans and wraps his blanket further around himself, trying to go back to sleep.

“I can’t believe you actually brought a blanket,” says the voice incredulously. “What are you, five?”

Roman inches one eye open. Virgil’s leaning over him, looking bored--and cold. He sighs. “It’s not my fault you’re too edgy for the simple comfort of a friggin blanket, Amy WHINEhouse.”

Virgil groans. “It doesn’t work if it’s a homophone, you dork,” he quips.

“But does it work if it’s a homosexual?”

“Oh my god,” Virgil mutters. “You’re so lame.” He’s blushing.

“You knew what I was going for,” says Roman, and snuggles further into the absolutely fabulously glittery galaxy blanket. He notices Virgil still looking and raises an eyebrow. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” Virgil groans, embarrassed. Roman lifts one arm draped in blanket like a wing and lays it over Virgil.

They’re on a charter bus on the way to North Carolina aquarium as part of the biology program. There’s still a while to go before finals, and apparently the professors get as bored as they do. All the Bio 101 classes were going together. Patton wasn’t taking biology that semester, and Logan had opted to stay behind with his (now official) boyfriend, which left Virgil and Roman to wake each other up at an indecent hour to get on the bus. It’s still too dark outside to really watch any of the scenery, so Virgil had been alternating between playing 2048, complaining that he was bored, listening to MCR, and bugging Roman.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Roman asks, drawing the blanket over both of their heads.

“Can’t.”

Roman groans. “Ah, of course. The sleepless emo cryptid.”

“It’s called insomnia.”

Virgil shifts a bit under the blanket and Roman has to resist the urge to wrap his arm around him and pull him close to his chest. He has no doubt that the smaller boy is one of those people who is chronically, perpetually cold. It would explain the ever present hoodie. But of course if he so much as lays a finger on him, Roman knows Virgil’ll flip out.

He doesn’t think he hates him. Not anymore. But. Well. Virgil is Virgil.

They pass the next few minutes of the ride in silence, and then Virgil says, “Roman?”

Roman’s almost back asleep. “Mhm?” he asks, trying not to sound irritated.

“Do you think Logan’s going to be okay?”

Roman has to think about that. His cousin is resilient. Tough. Much tougher than people think he is. “He’s…” He’s what? How exactly do you describe Logan, even to someone who knew him?

“My aunt was very kind,” he finally settles on. “And...it would take anyone a lot of time to get over...that.”

Virgil is silent. Roman thinks maybe he forgot that Roman did indeed lose an aunt as well. He rushes on so Virgil doesn’t feel awkward about it. “But Logan’s tough,” he says. “And he’s smart and resourceful, and...and he’ll be living with us now. If he wants to. I’ll. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

The idea of anyone keeping an eye on Logan is a little preposterous, when he seems to have an eye on everything and everyone all the time. But he’s family and Roman isn’t about to let his obstinate nature get in the way of taking care of him.

Apparently Roman was right about Virgil forgetting that Logan’s mom was his aunt as well, because he asks abruptly, “Are you okay?”

Roman mulls the words over. “Yeah,” he says, casually. “Yes, I think so.”

“Oh,” says Virgil, and adds, “good.”

The bus hits a rough patch and Virgil yelps; Roman’s thrown against the window and Virgil lands practically in his lap. Roman laughs and shakes the blanket off of their heads, picks Virgil up and rights him, careful not to touch him a second longer than necessary. He pretends not to notice that Virgil’s blushing again.

After everything that had happened, finding Virgil a bloody mess in their room and his aunt Joy dying, even the weird thing with Patton’s friend without a name, being upset over Izzy had just seemed...irrelevant. Especially after he started to notice how cute Virgil was.

He’s not flirting, he tells himself. He’s just...engaging in conversation.

Okay, maybe he’s flirting.

“Okay, how are you asleep AGAIN?” Virgil asks what feels like five seconds later.

“Buses make me sleepy,” Roman says, rubbing at his eyes. “Haven’t you ever been on a boat? It’s like...being rocked to sleep.”

“No, I have not been on a boat,” says Virgil, looking scandalized. “I can’t swim.”

Roman scoffs. “Well, we’re going to have to fix that at some point.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! I was on the swim team in middle school...I remember my strokes…”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Good luck getting me in the water, prince charming.”

“Oh, so you think I’m charming now?”

Virgil sinks further into his seat. “That isn’t...that’s...that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Do I? Do I know it, Virgil? Perhaps you could explain it to me.”

“You‘re being duuuumb,” whines Virgil, like a child, making Roman laugh. They lapse into an almost comfortable silence again, and Virgil pulls Logan’s Rubik’s cube from his bag and starts to fiddle with it. Roman perks up, interested. “Is that Logan’s?” he asks.

“Yep,” says Virgil. “He gave it to me last Tuesday before therapy and I forgot to give it back, so he said I could have it for the trip.”

“How is therapy?” Roman asks, all traces of sarcasm and playfulness gone from his tone. But unexpectedly, Virgil doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered.

“Therapy’s cool,” he says, shifting a green corner away from a red center piece. “Picard is really funny.”

“Oh?” says Roman carefully. He wants to hear more but he doesn’t want to push.

Virgil just nods. “We both really like Tim Burton.”

“Huh,” says Roman, and decides not to voice his next thought.

Virgil looks up at him for a second and smiles. “I know, doesn’t sound much like therapy. But...it is. I think. I think I’m getting better. Sometimes we play board games, and like, I’m not allowed to say anything bad about myself or I have to forfeit my turn, or he gets to capture one of my pawns or something. And you KNOW how competitive I am.”

“That sounds like a good way to play a game,” says Roman, genuinely intrigued. “And I didn’t know you played chess.”

“I love chess,” Virgil says enthusiastically.

“Well, we’ll have to play it sometime.”

“Okay,” says Virgil, and if Roman didn’t know better he’d say Virgil sounded almost shy.

Virgil actually does end up falling asleep on the ride (after solving the cube four times. He tries to show Roman, but he just can’t seem to get the colors to line up on more than three sides.)

Somewhere in the course of the ride Virgil’s head droops onto Roman’s shoulder and Roman holds himself perfectly stiff. He feels as though a particularly large and beautiful butterfly has landed on him, and he wants to keep it there as long as possible. So he doesn’t move, even when he starts to get bored and kind of wants to wake Virgil up to retaliate.

When the bus finally pulls into the parking lot of the aquarium Virgil jolts awake, startled. “Wh- whuzzgoingonwhere-” He blinks and spots Roman. “Oh. You.”

“I feel so loved,” Roman jokes, and Virgil shoves him.

The moment the chaperones have finished making their boring speeches and instructing them where to meet up when they’re ready for lunch, Virgil and Roman have zipped off the bus.

“I’m excited,” says Roman, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Are you excited?”

Virgil rolls his eyes, “Ugh, you’re like Patton in training.”

“Ha. That’s a compliment.”

They end up wandering away from the rest of the group to explore the sea turtle exhibit, and Virgil, despite his apparent nonchalance, is absolutely fascinated. “Do you think they remember where they live?” he asks Roman, who’s reading the plaque.

“I dunno, but aren’t turtles supposed to be really smart? Probably.”

“Where’d he come from?” Virgil asks.

“She,” Roman corrects, still reading the plaque. “Uh, it says all the sea turtles here are being rehabilitated and then released--none of them were born here. This little guy was found underneath a pier a few miles from here.”

“Do you think she misses her family?”

“I don’t think turtles stay with their family, Virgil,” says Roman, somewhat amused.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we see the seahorses?”

“Sure.”

They wind their way through the bluish tunnels of the aquarium, through the dark hallways, into the discovery rooms. They spend a good ten minutes at the biggest tank, the one that holds the sharks, and Roman keeps trying to come up with names for all of them.

“That one’s Penelope,” he decides, “and that’s her best friend, Claude…”

Virgil snorts. “What’s that tuna’s name?”

Roman squints at it. “Virgil.”

Virgil rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. “That makes you the little shrimp thing over there,” he says, pointing to a smaller tank mounted in the wall.

“Which one is Patton?” Roman asks, grinning.

“Patton is a sea pancake.”

Roman raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a meme…” sighs Virgil. “He’s a stingray, do you wanna go pet them?”

“You want to pet stingrays?” Roman asks, incredulously. He would’ve thought that Virgil would immediately nope out of that situation.

“Um. Yes? Haven’t you ever pet a stingray? They’re the most precious things in the whole wide world.” He turns to head down the hallway that leads to the stingray tanks, and Roman stays for a moment to mutter dramatically to the sharks, “He’s wrong, you know. He’s the most precious thing in the whole wild world.”

“Are you coming?” Virgil calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The “sea pancakes” are indeed quite precious, even if they don’t live up to Roman’s high standards. They flip their wings up as they glide, soaking in the petting.

“Maaaan I wish I could have one of these little guys as a pet,” Virgil laments.

“They are pretty cute,” Roman concedes, and then starts to open his mouth, but Virgil cuts him off.

“Don’t you dare. I know what you’re going to say and it is absolutely too cheesy to ever be said aloud.” He’s blushing furiously. Roman takes a quick glance around the darkened room and notices that no one’s very close to them, then looks back at Virgil and grins.

“I won’t say anything, then.”

The buildup is painfully slow, the feel of the kiss burning in Roman’s gut before their lips ever even meet. He wants to give Virgil ample opportunity to pull away, to say “what the fuck?” to declare that all the signals Roman thought he was seeing were completely fictional, caused by wishful thinking.

But he doesn’t do any of those things.

Instead he lets his eyes flutter closed and tilts his face up to meet Roman’s. Roman cups his face in the hand that he hadn’t been using to pet the stingrays, and Virgil squeaks.

The kiss lasts about five seconds. Roman of course would be happy to go on much longer, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm his roommate. He pulls back, gazes into Virgil’s gorgeous, glittering eyes, and murmurs, “but not as cute as you,” and Virgil groans.

“Auuugh, I haaaaate you.”

He’s still blushing. Roman’s grinning furiously. It was an embarrassingly middle school like kiss to get excited about, literally just a brief meeting of skin, but Roman’s happier than he’s been all year. He helps Virgil to his feet again, and they both sit at the edge of the stingray pool and trail their hands through the water.

“Seriously, though,” whispers Virgil. “Was that...was that alright? Was I alright? Did I do good?”

Roman laughs. “Oh, darling, you did perfectly.”

“Oh.” Virgil covers his face with his hands, still trying to hide the blush. “Well. Good.”

Roman smiles at him, perfectly ready to sink back into those eyes--but then his eyes catch the time on his wrist. “Oh, shit,” he says, “we’re all going to that restaurant, remember?”

“Damn, is it that time already?” Virgil asks, seeming happy to focus on something that’s not himself. Roman shrugs.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, eh?”

“I suppose so,” says Virgil, and stands up. They start to walk back. Before they get back to the exit, though, Roman holds up a hand to Virgil. “Wait here.”

He darts into the gift shop and heads past stacks of puzzles, book displays, animal figurines, and stops next to the stuffed animals. His eyes land on the stingrays, but then they slide down to a plush, greenish blue sea turtle. He scoops it up and brings it to the desk and pays.

When he emerges and thrusts it into Virgil’s arms, he looks thoroughly confused. “What’s...what’s this for, now?”

Roman shrugs sheepishly. “You seemed a little concerned with your sea turtle not having a family...this one will have us.”

“God, Roman,” says Virgil, utterly exasperated and clearly trying to hide that he’s tearing up a little. “You’re such a sap.”


End file.
